


Captive Shadows

by hhavenh



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Imprisonment, M/M, Multi, Pining, Violence, not awakening-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-12 17:38:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7943290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hhavenh/pseuds/hhavenh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Einherjar. A prisoner. A slave.</p><p>They don't call him one, but Geoffrey is nothing else when he cannot take command of his own body, his strength used to fend off enemies more monster than man. Lucia and the others are no different, captive by these same unseen chains. They are gagged, are held fast in every single way by this nameless magic. A vile <i>dominion</i> that spreads from that voice, that hooded <i>coward</i>.</p><p>Geoffrey will end him. One day these bonds will not be enough. One day he will again take command of himself, of his own strength, and show this Robin the true power of a Crimean knight unchained.</p><div class="center">
  <p>---</p>
</div>Old Hubba always said that the einherjar were no more than legends. Mere reflections. Echoes of heroes from ages long past.<p>But what if he was wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"We have no other-."

But Elincia would not listen, turning away before he could finish. "We will not become hostile on land that is not our own." A habit she'd developed in the last year, maybe a way to handle the amount of people seeking her attention. Geoffrey couldn't be sure, had never made his frustration plain. Difficult not to now, when submerged in the uncertainty of a Bennish rebellion.

A bland word for what amounted to revolution, mortar and hellfire having shaken the very foundations of this haven for days now. Still they were surrounded on every passable side, separatists between them and the border while the empire’s quelling forces surged forth from the south. This ravine was too narrow to fear being marched upon, but that didn't make it any more secure. Both Begnion and the separatists toiled high above, where the crumbling rock walls met the fields overhead. Lucia had already stepped out to end the suffering of three soldiers that had fallen from on high. Soon one would devastate the roof of this abandoned shrine, or the walls of the ravine would finally collapse entirely and bury them beneath stone and clay.

But only if they delayed further.

"We need not become hostile lest we are pursued," Geoffrey argued, his patience as thin and flayed as it had been since coming awake in Telgram to rebel yells and the scream of pegasai. That had been days ago, and they were barely any closer to escape than they had been. What should have been a simple return home had become an escape from both factions, tempers and suspicion too high on either side to risk approach. Undeniable fact, but their shelter would not stand for much longer. The walls of this shrine were made weaker by the minute. Already Geoffrey could see the upper extent of the framework, plaster crumbling with each arcanic bellow that passed overhead.

"And if we are?" Elincia asked, though she gave him no time to answer. "Even in defense of ourselves, either side will twist our actions into some claim of support. If we wait a little longer-."

“A little longer and these walls will be our coffin,” Geoffrey grit, impatience lashing his throat and making harsh his words. If Elincia noticed she did not make the observation plain. She did not even reply, stepping instead to the back of this pitiful shrine when Amaranth whinnied. “Elincia!”

“Don’t harass her.”

“We have to _leave_ ,” Geoffrey insisted, the snap of his words blunted by a sudden cresting of mage-made thunder. The walls shuddered worse, Elincia’s soft murmurs drowned beneath the scattering of rock and shale towards the ancient tile floor. “Even if the war raging over our heads was of no _consequence_ , there is still no food here for us, none for our steeds, not even any clean water.” What didn’t they understand about that?  No more time could be wasted here, not when every point of contention above them made the risk worse. A fallen wyvern, even a miscast spell would be enough to shake the roots of the mountain.

It was no great wonder this shrine had been abandoned, when a rockslide could cascade down at any moment. Even a single boulder was capable of devastating this entire structure.

But Lucia only passed a tired hand across her jaw, the dust against her skin barely shifting, “Yelling at her won’t change any of that.”

Did she honestly think they had time to argue about Geoffrey’s _tone_? Every moment spent here was time that could be better spent in retreat, in putting as much distance between themselves and the inevitable collapse as possible. "And pretending her life isn't at risk won't make it so!"

"That doesn't mean we fling ourselves into the open!" Her temper was as thin as his, each word sharp and low. A far departure from the false calm she'd been determined to maintain in Elincia's presence. An aggravation itself, when Geoffrey alone was forced to the part of belligerent harasser. "You and I are in no way capable of protecting her, not by ourselves! Not in the middle of the day, and not when we don't even know the way to the border."

Nor could they keep a mountain from crumbling atop her! “I won’t argue this anymore,” Geoffrey bit out, chin tipped enough that he was a bare hand’s breadth from her face. “There is no more safety here to be had. It doesn’t matter where we go so long as it is out from under this _deathtrap_.”

“We will be seen, and no one will assume us harmless travelers! No one will recognize us as Crimean, or even give us the chance to explain before assuming us an enemy. We cannot risk that, cannot risk Elincia, how is that so hard to grasp?” Her hair was unkempt, a stale permeation of sweat hovering in the air between them. A scent too akin to battle and bloodshed for tension not to wash Geoffrey’s chest anew. Air almost felt scarce, everything within seizing so blastedly tight, eruption nigh with every argument passing Lucia’s lips. “Our only hope-.”

“Our only hope is to strike north!” The walls shook worse, plaster falling from above as would hail. “We will find the way, or at least find better shelter! We have no protection here, not even a goddessdamned door-!” But Geoffrey had to stop as he flung his arm and eyes to the wrecked entrance way. Had to completely still himself.  Even his breath, because there was the Fireman leaning against the broken jamb.

Their eyes met, and Geoffrey had to strangle a scream in his throat. "How many _blasted_ times have I told you not to do that?!"

Lucia whipped around, her sword already drawn even though Volke hadn't bothered to move from his leisure. No apology existed in his eyes, nor likely beneath the stretch of his mask, the whole of him forever a study in cool composure.

Composure that Geoffrey would absolutely _shatter_ -.

“How are you possibly here?” Lucia didn’t sheath her blade fully, shoulders given the same height as her voice.

“Why are you here?” Geoffrey cut in, a forever uncertainty curling beneath the dregs of his irritation. There was little that ever boded well in the Fireman’s sudden appearance.

“To take you all north." Debris shook from the beams when something made impact over ahead. His eyes followed the sound, “Lest you’d rather wait this out, but I won’t be sticking around.”

There was little in life so potent as relief. A chill took Geoffrey’s flesh, more than a whisper of breath finally escaping the tight dominion of his chest. Even Lucia’s stance shifted, less impending assault in the width of her feet. "How did you know we were trapped?" Suspicion rang in her every word, but Geoffrey wasn't sure they had time to indulge it.

Volke evidently thought otherwise, "Squire made it to the border, Fayre got involved."

"Maybelle survived!" Lucia exclaimed, a brightness in her voice not heard in days. "She’s alright, she made it through the Schterik unscathed?"

But Volke only shrugged, familiar indifference in the shape of his eyes. Familiar to Geoffrey at least, Lucia's shoulders again growing rigid in his periphery. "There’s a way south of here that the brunt of the fight already passed over. Arcs up around the side of the mountain and levels out in the valley near the pass to Nados.”

Goddess, if they could just get within sight of the border! Nados Castle hadn’t seen full repair, but the wayfort was still manned. Even a mediocre sentry would spot Elincia’s pegasus coming through the Schterik, that more than enough to prompt a continent of soldiers to come escort them the rest of the way.

Lucia shifted forward, fingers yet on the grip of her sword, “How close does near put us?”

The ceiling shuddered again, another bellow of thunder forcing Amaranth to whinny behind them. Volke glanced towards Elincia’s quiet murmurs, though didn’t show much disquiet at the prospect of the shrine crumbling overhead, “Twelve minutes from there to the pass.”

“No,” Lucia said at once, tangled bangs waving as she shook her head to the side, “We can’t risk so long in the open. Not in daylight.”

This wasn’t an argument they could keep having. They didn’t have the _time_. “We don’t have a choice,” Geoffrey decided, whistling briefly for his steed beneath the growing roar of wyverns. “We leave, and we leave now.”

Of course Lucia sighed, a heavy lowering of her shoulders as her gaze turned skyward, “You can’t just-.”

“We _leave_ ,” Geoffrey snapped, reaching back and taking the reins when the weight of Farther’s head pressed against his shoulder. He didn’t care for what response Lucia would attempt, stepping away as calmly as he could then manage. “You honestly think he'd be here if he couldn’t manage to get us to the border?”

Volke sidestepped as Geoffrey neared, the gaping maw of the entrance way was no longer impeded, “There’s also a dozen knights of yours waiting inside the Schterik.”

Geoffrey didn’t give Lucia a moment to consider further protest, did not even call back to determine Elincia’s will. Her denial was not a risk he cared to take. “Then we just have to get there.”

\---

The Marhauts were broad and steep, jagged jaws that opened to the sky. A vast barrier of innumerable peaks that were forever seen on Crimea's southern horizon. To no more be tucked within that terrible ravine was a relief itself. Still they were sullied with dust and sweat but the breeze was enough to force new life beneath Geoffrey's flesh. Frustration and tire could no longer reign when they were finally now in motion, every step an escape from Begnion's latest conflict.

The soldiers were clear from this height, Volke having taken them on a steep enough climb that Geoffrey'd led Farther by hand until the plateau had been in sight. A narrow plateau, little more than a goat path that skirted the edge of the cliff, but one even and free of either the separatists or Bennish forces. Instead they existed below, the sharp scream of blades echoing alongside bellows of arcana and the thundering approach of steeds.

Ashera had withered over a year prior, but even without that assumed favor Begnion still knew no craft like it did war. Pale armour glinted despite the sparse sunlight, the valley below choked in a seamless wave of Bennish dominion.

A haze of dust and smoke made determining the true extent of the battle impossible, not that Geoffrey had so much attention to spare. This path was too narrow for more than one steed to safely traverse, but they didn't have the luxury of abiding by such sense when every step of Elincia's pegasus was so clear a struggle.

Amaranth had never so thoroughly shown her age. Already her sides were wet and matted, even her silvering wings drooped miserably to either side of her shoulders. The feathers might have drug on the very ground if Elincia hadn't tucked one wing up against her body, the other draped across the back of Geoffrey's steed. Even had they the opportunity Amaranth would not have been capable of carrying forth at any sort of true speed. Her actual ailment was difficult to determine, nothing strange in her legs and body that either Elincia or Geoffrey had been able to find.

That she could still shuffle along at all should have been enough to be grateful for. Geoffrey couldn't be sure Elincia would have left her behind, or that either he or his sister would have been able to convince her of the necessity.

They were moving so slowly though. Even with Lucia leading her along by hand and whispering encouragement Amaranth refused any attempts to be hurried.  She had actually tried to stop twice, but hadn't been able to lift her wing from Farther's back. Elincia’s weary eyes had near overflowed when Amaranth had then let free so miserable a whinny.

Much as his stomach would forever clench in sour denial of his lady's grief, Geoffrey hadn't let Farther slow. Not then, and he certainly wouldn't now. Couldn't when they were already moving so sluggishly. He was not certain their sudden guide would even continue to bother with them if any halt was made. Geoffrey'd not shared space with Volke since those long months weathering Lord Renning's madness, but even that hectic struggle had bred familiarity. Impatience was so easily recognized in the faraway set of his shoulders. Perhaps Maybelle hasn't thought to mention Amaranth's illness.

Or maybe she had, but Bastian hadn’t cared to part with the information.

Amaranth shuddered again, a convulsion of her chest and shoulders that made the echo of her hooves uneven. Her eyes had yet to roll, no foam dripping from her jaw, but Geoffrey could not help the cold anticipation tightening his gut.  Elincia did not lift her chin when he turned to her, so much attention rather given to passing her long fingers through Amaranth’s knotted mane. “We need to go faster.”

But Elincia only shook her head with miserable eyes, emerald tresses dusty and dull as they swayed in the wind, “You know we can’t.”

“And you know we must.”

Her eyes fell closed, so much strain in the clench of her jaw. In the furious furrow of her brows, "I know that I am so _tired_ and _through_ with having my every decision questioned."

"This is not a decision!" Heat swept up his throat, fingers aching where they'd fisted in Farther's reins. "This is leaving our fate to chance instead of taking it in hand!" How could she risk them like this? Escape was as good as assured, aid and protection so incredibly near, but still she forced them to dally.  To give the conflict below as much time as possible to spread north, swallowing the clearest shot they would have at entering the Schterik and making it across the border.

A sick pegasus would be their death, but Elincia did not care. She would not even look at him.

"I will not repeat-."

"You will _die_ ," Geoffrey hissed, gesturing towards the east as a flock of wyverns arched towards the skies. "My sister will _die_ , your steed will be made some Begnion beast's _meal-_."

"Stop!" Lucia’s hail was just as sharp as Elincia's eyes. She still wouldn't look at him. Didn't even look at his sister, so-, so blastedly determined to deny Geoffrey even so bare a courtesy!

When had they become this broken? This piecemeal and shattered? Had Elincia ever really cared for his words, or given true weight to anything said between them?

Was Geoffrey just a fool to think that his opinions should still hold her attention, even if he could no longer hold her hand?

A bellow of faux thunder swallowed any notion Geoffrey had to make so pathetic a thought verbal. Farther tossed his head and made plain his uncertainty, Amaranth replying in the same pitched distress. Farther would at least be shushed, a stroke against his neck bringing some calm. Enough to keep them moving, the battle further north when Geoffrey glanced below.

The valley was scorched, wild grasses aflame and coaxed higher with every gust that passed. Conflict still surged so heavily across the ravine that housed that wretched shrine. A white cloaked mage was skewed by two horsemen as he watched, the death throes of arcana felt even from this distance. A dwindling distance, the path now declining. Volke was hardly visible ahead when Geoffrey attempted to spot him. A dark shade against darker rock. A stationary shade, even his scarf held fast against the wind.

Unnecessary, unless-.

Farther sidestepped sharply, forced towards the inside of the path beneath the wing's weight when Lucia tugged on Amaranth's reins, "Hold steady!"

Wyverns raged down overhead, scaled bellies gleaming with splashed blood. Their mammoth wings cut through the air with a piercing scream, so fierce a gust pressing Geoffrey sideways in his saddle. Elincia's long tresses whipped his face as they were cast in shadow. A happily borne pain, so long as neither beasts or riders noticed them.

One wyvern bellowed and the rest followed suit, the flock sweeping down the cliff face with maws stretched wide.

Ashnard had taken Crimea like that.

A legion of dragonkin blackening the sky, fear struck in every heart when the cacophonous roars had come together in one horrible symphony.

Here now was a chorus of the same song. Soldiers flung themselves upon the blackened grass or huddled behind steeds, little shelter to be found from so terrible a foe. He could not hear the separation of bone and flesh from this height, but war had made certain such was a sound that could never be forgotten.

“ _Move!_ ” Nor could the rare snap of Volke’s irritation.

Farther needed little prompting, nor by some grace did Amaranth. There was new life in her limbs, Lucia jogging alongside to keep pace. The wind was brisk in their face, more assault than aid. The gale burned Geoffrey’s eyes and roared past his ears, the heavy trot of hooves barely heard beneath. Volke was still too far from them to breed comfort. But only for mere moments more if they kept on like this, if only they-.

A bellow shook the mountain.

Not wyverns but thunder. Not even of mages but true thunder, a sudden undeniable roar of nature's wrath.  Geoffrey didn't see the strike but he felt it all the same. Farther stumbled and loosed so high a whinny as the path flexed beneath them, shuddering and splintering apart as rock fell from above. It was foolish to look up in the midst, but Geoffrey could not help the insistence as dread surged beneath his skin.

The cliff was collapsing as far as could be seen. Cracks were splintered the length of the mass of stone overhead, sheets of rock already coming apart in mammoth shards. The path behind them was already wrecked, great pieces of the ridge in free-fall towards the valley. Forward was no better, the cascade of debris worse.

“Geoffrey!” He could barely hear his lady, turning back in time to see her jerk Lucia to Amaranth’s back, “Go after him!” Silvered feathers cascaded with rock and stone as those great wings flexed and gathered air.

Time was short, the distance far. He had not the attention to see if the pegasus took true flight, pressing close to Farther's neck as he urged him forth with insistent heels. The wind still stung, worse when flecked with stone and dirt, but Geoffrey did not hide his eyes, couldn’t risk that distraction. Volke wasn't so far away now but every second was the difference between survival and worse.

Volke did not even see him, sprinting down the rest of the path as if he could outrun the cliff’s demise.

"Hey!" The wind stole Geoffrey’s shout, the words echoing back in his own ears as they flung away over his shoulder. “Come back! You won’t make it!”

Impossible, but Volke had to of heard. He glanced back over his shoulder, skidding with his own momentum as he turned on his heel. Barely a furlong between them, but Geoffrey wasn't sure they'd span the distance. Shattered stone and cracked slate cascaded without end, gravel in his eyes and teeth. Farther could go no faster, not when he couldn’t plant his feet with any assurance. The crackle of broken rock hadn’t quit, the whole path still in such trembling revolt.

But the distance wasn’t that far, not really. Not if they didn’t stop, if-.

Thunder echoed again. The sky flashed beyond the cloud of debris and dust overhead. Geoffrey did not look, only spurred Farther on when the beat of his hooves faltered.

Volke was a blur of shadow and shape, made indistinct in the continued fall of grit and stone. One moment so clear, and the next barely a shade. A shade that still breathed, that still lived.

A shade that darted back, a shard of stone larger than a man shattering where he'd stood. The path fell away before him, crumbling down towards the valley as if made of glass instead of ages old stone.

But the rest of the ridge was no different. Jagged cracks splintered out from the rock face, right beneath Farther’s hooves, the rest of the cliff seizing and cracking like ice dropped in too warm water.

The path began to sink.

The cracks became fissures, the entire segment of rock surrounding Geoffrey sliding down the cliff in one colossal shift. Farther skidded to a halt and shrieked, rearing onto his back legs as they dropped far enough that Volke could no more be seen. Couldn’t go forward, couldn’t go back, time so far _gone_. Geoffrey finally stood up in the stirrups and cupped a hand around his mouth, “Run, man!” He could not shout down the collapse of a mountain, no matter how he tried. Even if his throat tore itself raw, if he could now barely see as a fresh cascade of dirt and shale covered he and his terrored steed whole. "Run!"

A shadow crashed through the fall. Arms crossed over his face, knees high, Volke sailed towards him as debris and dust rained down all around. Geoffrey choked on airborne dirt, eyes burning as he forced them wide. He reached, he stretched further than he ought, but still hooked Volke’s arm and swung him to Farther's back.

Arms immediately drew tight beneath his breastplate, not another moment then spared before Geoffrey took them over the cliff's crumbling edge.

\---

And there! As shale and rock flung into the air, Geoffrey's pale steed emerged from the billowing dust. There was so little controlled in the poor creature's descent, hooves slidding down the sharp incline of the cliff face. There was terror in those large eyes, in the desperate whinny let free.

So pitying a sound, but Elincia could do nothing to help. She could not even be assured of Geoffrey or his steed's safety, attention stolen when Amaranth returned to the ground at the northern end of the valley. The shock was too much, too _sudden_ , her waist no longer clutched tight.

Lucia fell past her reach, little seen but the flash of her matted hair.

Elincia barely kept the saddle herself as Amaranth stumbled to a graceless halt, great sides heaving in such sick exertion. There was no time to tend her, nor even to humor the thought. Not when the sky washed orange and black overhead, fuming hellfire hiding the very sky.

Oh, but she could hear the crackle of those arcanic flames, even the heat! They had been unknown above, but now battle raged only an arrow's flight away. Surely they had been noted, helms and steeds turning their way as rocks and grit continued to cascade. Soldiers were already in motion even as she watched, the empire's banners whipping in mage made gales. They assumed threat, just as Elincia had feared. 

"Milady!" Elincia was not capable of ignoring so dear a voice. Lucia's hail broke through the furious roar of blood and battle as a blade would fabric. She was on her feet, already so dirty and travel stained that there was no evidence of her fall. "We're nearly there! Keep going!"

There to the south, shrouded in sheets of dust and mountain debris, what could only be Schterik Pass, and Crimea not so far beyond. The cavern was dark and uncertain, but far away from the conflict that surged closer with every wasted second. "Then come!" Elincia demanded, throwing the reins forward before swinging from the saddle. "She won't manage if her wings are left to drag!"

Lucia was so wonderful, so _perfect_. She did not attempt even a moment's argument, moving immediately to Amaranth's side as weary hooves again attempted motion. Elincia took one wing over her shoulders, Lucia the other, each stuttered step so pitiable in every way. Feathers just kept falling, enough that Elincia might have thought her molting if Amaranth hadn't already this spring. Her sides were still so wet, moisture running in dirtied rivets down her coat. "Just a little more, my love." So much a lie, a lie every time Elincia had whispered the same _but she could not leave her._

Lucia understood why. Geoffrey surely did as well, would no doubt fall to his knee and beg pardon when this nightmare was finally over. Elincia would forgive his temper, she would at _once,_ she still understood him and his ways even if they were so far from the golden sweetness of their youth. Just a little further and they would end this wretched day under Crimean skies, her dearest friends and their steeds too. Tempers and insistence would be forgiven, they would eat and drink and wash away all evidence of this horrid-.

An arrow struck the ground three strides before them. Another one landed immediately to the left. A torrent of emerald gales erupted near enough to flay Elincia’s arm.

Amaranth beat her wings, a pitiful lift and fall that only made Elincia ache, so miserable a whinny brightening her eyes ever more. Exhausted hooves stuttered to a halt, no matter that they were _almost home._

“Milady-.”

“I won’t leave her!” She could not look at Lucia, not when her eyes burned in these foolish tears. “I will leave no one, we need only aid her!” If-, oh goddess, if they just let Amaranth catch her breath-.

"Go!" Elincia knew that dear voice, could even picture the fierce determination of Geoffrey’s face without looking.

But the insistence was too much, heart beating so swiftly in her throat as Elincia turned in time to see him gallop out from a fresh cascade of rock and dust. His face was darkened with mountain debris, his steed’s white flesh mottled in grey dinge. It was an unlooked for relief to see the Fireman’s pale scarf whipping in the wind behind Geoffrey’s shoulder, the faint color a contrast against the still crumbling remnants of the cliff.

"Ride ahead!" Elincia called back, tears wiped on her bloodied sleeve as she waved him north, “Bring the knights, bring them here!”

Could Geoffrey even hear her? The wind was in his face, the cliff yet collapsing behind him, there nothing silent in the full gallop of a warhorse. He was not even looking their way anymore, but off to the south, where the empire’s pale banners whipped to and fro. Steel yet clashed and wyverns screamed, the reverberations of magic an endless drone all around. Thunder crashed again, white light splintering across the grey sky like cracks in a mirror.

But that was not the only light.

Something blue and burning danced at the corner of her vision, a spell or…

What was that?

There was a sphere tumbling from the remnant of the wrecked cliff. Another joined the first as she watched, spilling forth from the fall of debris and dirt. They were bright as stars, as blue and burning as the truest depth of flames. And-, and so large! Had to be, to see them so clearly from this distance.

Clearer yet was how they proved capable of their own direction, both pulsing strangely before they jolted forth into the open air.

Could they see? Were they intelligent? Spirits maybe, or-.

Why were they speeding towards Geoffrey?

Elincia felt her eyes go wide, cold denial surging beneath her flesh. They-, oh no, _no_ , they were headed straight for him, shooting as straight and true as an arrow.

“Faster, brother, go!” Lucia hailed, her voice desperate and high. Elincia tried to add her own, but her words would not form, her lips parted even if sound refused to be uttered.

But there was no evidence that Geoffrey had even heard his sister. His steed was no swifter, his face yet snarled as he ducked past the continued fall of rock and stone. He was still so close to the overhang of the cliff, cracked boulders shattering against the ground mere strides from his poor steed. He-, oh, did he really not see? Did he not know?

The flaming orbs were then so large, pale light glinting off Geoffrey’s dirtied armor, casting his face in shadow. And then they were so _bright_ , flashing in white illumination, a blinding sphere of light that Elincia could not look at. Her eyes watered as she turned away, but then Lucia screamed her brother’s name and Elincia tried to see, to _know_ -.

The lights went out.

Gone. So sudden as a snuffed candle. Her eyes still burned, strange spots of color in her sight, but no more was Geoffrey chased, he was fine, he was safe-.

He fell.

Geoffrey and then the Fireman, both crashing to the ground as would rag dolls.

Elincia ran before she could truly make the decision. She ducked beneath Amaranth’s wing, feathers trailing in her wake. “ _Geoffrey!”_ She cared not for his fleeing steed nor the fall of stone, not when Geoffrey had just crumpled like some string-less puppet. Not when he still did not _rise_.

Oh, but there again that light!

Blue radiance lit the ground all around. Another sphere of flame crackled in the air high above, darting forth from the crumbling mountain. Already it was so large, the flames lashing out as would a snake tasting the air. It-, oh, no, no! The terrible thing was headed north, was already lowering itself from the mountain heights.

Elincia turned before she reached Geoffrey's sprawl, so bare a hope closing her throat-, but no. Amaranth had not moved, wings spread upon the ground in such clear defeat. Lucia was not even near her, but must have given chase the moment she’d realized Elincia’s intentions. Her eyes were wide, lips parted in a swordsman’s aggression as she brought her blade before her.

“Run, Lucia, please!”  Elincia’s voice cracked, cold denial rushing through her blood. Sweat and dirt stung her eyes, but she could not look away, could do nothing but rush back to where she never should have left, “Lucia, don’t-!”

But already her sword was lifted, challenge no doubt leaving her throat, her eyes and blade shinning in the terrible blue light of those flames. But only for a moment.

Only until the sphere flashed with that indomitable white light, Elincia blinded again as the world was washed away in so far reaching a luminescence.

But even that was brief. The space of a moment, a second, and then color returned. And there, her dear lady in the midst, standing still so proud and tall.

Again, only for a moment.

And then she too fell, limp and silent as dust settled around her.

“ _Lucia!_ ” She did not stir when Elincia sped near and went to her knees. Lucia’s eyelids did not flutter when Elincia pet her cheek, her-, oh goddess, her chest was not even rising. She was still, still in every way.

She was not even warm.

“Please, please, my darling, don’t do this.” Elincia felt her eyes burn anew as she ripped off a dirtied glove and reached for Lucia’s throat. Nothing pulsed against her fingers, there was no beat against her ear when Elincia pressed against her lady’s chest. But why was she so cold? She-, she wasn’t gone, couldn’t be, Elincia refused to even _think_ -.

She was glowing.

Like the vaguest luminescence of a starbug, so quiet and gentle a glow. It brightened Lucia’s lips and even shined upon every strand of her tangled hair. Her clothes, her fingers, every aspect of her was lined in this strangeness, that blue light impossible to ignore now that Elincia had noticed. But still she did not breathe, her chest so still, everything about her so-.

An arrow struck the ground between Lucia’s feet.

Would this day not end?

“You’ll be fine,” Elincia whispered, bending enough to wrap her arms around Lucia’s torso. “You are fine, we are all _fine_.” She drug her back from the arrow and struggled upright, her lady so dreadfully limp over her shoulder.

But not dead.

Not dead, she couldn’t be _dead_. Elincia had long ago vowed to never again contemplate life untouched by the brightness that Lucia carried in her entire being.

Amaranth still had not moved, head so dreadfully low. She did not even murmur when Elincia forced Lucia into the stirrups and tied her hands to the saddle horn with the reins. She did not flinch when thunder again bellowed, nor when the mammoth bolt of a ballista sank into the dirt mere strides away. Her sides were yet wet, each movement of her chest so bare and sickly, but Elincia knew not what else to do.

Her head was still low, and too warm when Elincia knelt and spread gentle palms against her jaw, “I am so sorry.”

With a heavy breath Amaranth straightened her neck, but only enough to so that Elincia could see the pain creasing her golden eyes.

This poor creature. So sick and so _old_ , and still Elincia demanded so much of her. Maybe now her very life. But-, but if she could cross the rest of the Marhauts, if she could just get to Nados-. "Do this for me," Elincia begged, thumbing aside the moisture beneath Amaranth's gentle eyes. "This last thing, my love, _please_."

Her nostrils flared, her shoulders _shook_ , but once again those mammoth wings lifted. They beat once, and again, dirt and stone forced away as Amaranth gathered air beneath her kicking legs and climbed towards the grey skies.

Elincia did not watch her go, had not that luxury.

Already she was in motion, even as wet despair trailed through the dust bathing her cheeks.

No different than his sister, when Elincia finally went to her knees at Geoffrey’s side. She couldn’t feel his breath, nor the beat of his heart. He was aglow just the same, so vague a light across his armor and flesh. A faint bluish tinge that made bile touch the back of her tongue. She didn’t know why, had not the time to determine the cause of her own foolishness. Nor even to wipe the dirt and grime from Geoffrey’s dear face.

The sky was yet clear when Elincia pushed back to her feet. No flames came for her as she took hold of Geoffrey’s pauldrons and made to tug him north.

Good goddess, but he was so _heavy_. So broad and nearly impossible to move. Dirt collected at the front edges of his armor, his heavy ankle guards digging down into the ground the further they went. She drug him less than three strides before her arms gave way, that same dirt and dust coating her tongue as she sucked in air. The Fireman was aglow just the same but nowhere near so difficult to move, though Elincia did not drag him further than behind Geoffrey's bulk.

Could not, when already the empire was speeding her way.

Elincia walked to meet them, Amiti so dreadfully familiar in her grasp. A cold ally, one she was so tired of bringing forth. “One day you will sleep forever.” A quiet promise. Or maybe just another lie.

She did not know, did not even have energy enough to care.

The first to reach her was a lanceman, a young girl with frazzled curls and savage eyes. She overextended and met her death when Amiti slid cleanly between her ribs. The next demanded Elincia’s surrender even as he struck forth with an axe surely on the cusp of shattering. It would not have the chance, the cracked edge sunken in the soft dirt when Elincia sidestepped the boy’s first strike and parted the flesh of his throat. An arrow tangled in her hair as she pivoted. She tore it free and forced the head into the thigh of a horseman racing past. The rider was too startled and slipped out of the stirrups, the steed continuing north while Amiti bathed in blood anew.

Another arrow sliced Elincia’s thigh. The flight of a wooden spear forced her to a knee. The air above her spit flame and heat that fumed the very breath in her lungs, dirt and grass kicked high as she threw herself aside. A soldier with a dented helm tried to pin her with a sword, but choked on her blade when Elincia sheathed Amiti up through an unprotected jaw.

Thunder bellowed and lightning struck the ground all around her. Elincia could not resist the stuttered scream that bubbled past her chapped lips, each golden thread arcing though her armor and sizzling high and hot in her chest.

She-, she could not breathe, could not _stand_ , Amiti was near fumbled when Elincia fell to both knees and pressed a bloodied hand against her throat.

Couldn’t stay like this. Just-, just had to fight past the ache, to take her feet. Just for a little longer, only until the watchmen at Nados spotted Amaranth soaring past the Marhauts without her.

Elincia would not be alone then.

The strength of her legs returned before her breath, arms prickling as if a hundred pins were trying to press out from within. But still she brought Amiti before her, just in time for the steel head of a spear to glint off the flat of the blade.

The more she moved the more her chest loosened, air sucked in between her teeth as a man with an axe darted near. She parted his throat, the cut too weak to slice his spine.

Amiti was lodged in the bone, too much blood and energy wasted in pulling the blade free.

Elincia could ignore her exhaustion no longer. She was faint, her whole body a tremble. She'd gone too long without food, without true rest or water. Every breath was so rapid, even the act of breathing more than she could manage. Again she fell to her knees, Amiti held in so weak a grasp.

But this was not the end. Soldiers continued to draw near, the endless souls of the empire’s legions. A moment more and she would be able to see their eyes. A minute and she would feel the stomp of their approach through her legs.

But she did already.

No.

No, that was wrong. This was different, was better. Closer, from behind her, the gallop of warhorses a new relief. Elincia used Amiti to regain her feet, and the brisk breeze stung her eyes as shrouded knights passed her on either side, Crimea's crest seen beneath every flapping cloak.

\---

 _…just need a moment to_ _…_

Vague. Vague and grey.

A lack of color, of presence. Of-, of anything.

 _…need more of a barrier between them and_ _…_

But that was wrong. Had to be something. There was always something. Words. Whispers. Deeds and tasks and an ever reaching mountain of obligation.

Of duty.

There was nothing so constant as duty.

 _…ederick of course, and then we need someone else to_ _…_

Sound was strange. One moment a warm whisper and the next a distant call.

Had he moved? Had they?

 _…all ready then? If so_ _…_

\---

The sky was a strange color.

Still blue, clouds spread in an intermittent haze of grey and silver. A strange blue though. One deeper than Geoffrey was accustomed. Or maybe it was later than he assumed. But surely the sun was at too great a height for evening to be close? Maybe a storm was coming. Beyond the scent of approaching rain, Geoffrey could never tell without seeing the dark billow of clouds. For others it was as simple as gazing at the sky. Elincia was like that. Could just step outside and glance aloft, lip rolled between her teeth as she-.

Elincia.

Goddess, _where_ _was_ _she_?

His sister would know. She'd been right there with Elincia, Amaranth's sagging wing over her shoulders. But she wasn’t before him, neither of them in sight, not even in hearing. He saw no feathers on the ground, did not hear the beat of hooves upon the…

He was standing.

Why was he standing?

Where was Farther? Where was his sister, where was his _queen?!_

"I just can't tell very well." Startled fire flared the length of Geoffrey’s spine, so strident an insistence to move, to _flinch_ , invading his flesh.

But he didn’t.

“Aw, what’sa matter?”

Everything. Everything was the matter. He-, goddess, he actually couldn’t move! Was he even breathing?

“Nothing really, just getting frustrated with these cards.” Again, that voice. Clearer now, more distinct and crisp. As if the speaker was standing behind him instead of murmuring through water and glass. "This symbol here means something like... vitality? The cards with more of them tend to last longer in battle when injured, so maybe it's endurance instead, but I just can't be sure."

Nonsense that Geoffrey didn't have the care to parse.  Nor the attention, his queen and sister the only priorities at present. Volke as well, by the chance circumstance allowed.

But if Geoffrey couldn’t move, if he was restrained here in some way-, but was he?

Had the separatists overrun them? Had the empire? Was this some-, some new Bennish magic practiced upon captives?

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll get it! Or maybe grandpa Hubba could help you!” A girl. Youthful, every word bright and full of pleasure at life.

Couldn’t see her, couldn’t see whomever she was speaking with. He-, he couldn’t even speak himself! The urge was there, every word fighting to escape his throat, battling against his shut jaws. This didn’t feel like any silence he’d ever borne. His teeth did not ache, arcana did not pulse and heat his throat.

Still he was gagged, was-, goddess, was breathless and-.

Geoffrey was suddenly taller.

No, he was only in a saddle, the cradle of a leather seat and stirrups immediately known. Not his own saddle, not even his own steed. Unmistakable all the same.

Could see more of the valley before him now. Not one he knew, the line of the horizon foreign and unknown. Color was still so strange. The grass, the trees, the-.

Were those people?

Geoffrey couldn’t focus the way he wanted, hadn’t…hadn’t even blinked. Or maybe he hadn’t noticed.

But it was impossible not to notice the-, the things approaching. Certainly not people, beorc or laguz. Not anything Geoffrey even knew how to name.

They were just...grotesque.

Strange in form, in bearing, lurching each step forward as if too heavy to maintain their own conveyance. Discolored flesh hung from malformed shoulders and over long arms. Did they carry blades? Was that the sharpness Geoffrey saw in their hands? The distance was too far, but that would not remain true for much longer. Not when every lurching step brought those macabre beasts closer.

"Here's the other two we found. Neither look like they're quite as strong though."

What was wrong with these fools?! Did they not realize the danger? Was there no watch, no patrol?

Evidently not. There was no alarm in the girl’s voice when she hummed, not even the slightest apprehension to each word, “Are you still going to bring them out?”

A quill went to work as the voice made an uncertain sound, "Maybe. I feel like this one might be able to find a way into those shrines for us, if this symbol means what I think it does." Parchment shifted, the scent of ink unmistakable. “And this one should be able to keep Olivia protected if Stahl gets overwhelmed.”

“Look at that hair! Do you think she’s as pretty in person?”

Brief laughter, “Well, let’s find out.”

A moment, a sizzle of arcana that flared against his armor, and-, and Lucia! Mere strides before him! He could not see her face, but only the long length of her hair, and the-, wait…had she bathed?

When had she found the time? There was no mud or stain on the back of her garments, even her hair free from dust and tangles.  Elincia had to be safe, if she had any attention left to give her appearance.

If he could only ask her-. But no. His lips did not part, no sound came forth from his throat. Geoffrey tried and tried and _tried_ , but he could not speak, still could not move. His arm did not reach out, his hands refused to unfist from the reins, from this-, goddess when had he taken a lance!? When had Lucia drawn a sword? He could not even look at her fully, the whole of her seen mostly in periphery.

She-, did she know he was here? Could she move, or speak? Were they both captive, held in unwilling silence as those hulking beasts traipsed near?

No no _no_ , now she was running away! But why? How? Was she truly so eager to engage with those horrid creatures?

Movement flashed in the corner of his eye.

The flare of a tattered scarf, of a familiar coat. A moment and he watched as Volke crossed in front of him and bore away to the left.

What was the _matter_ with him? With her?! They didn't have time for this, not when Elincia was in danger. Was likely captive as well, if not already-.

 “Alright everyone!” A new voice, another adult, a man that expected to be heard and obeyed. “Fight hard, but fight with your head! Head out!”

More voices, cheers and hails all around, and then a man with ocean dark hair sprinted past. A mounted knight gave chase, others following, all heading straight for the mass of terrible beasts that dotted the valley below.

Except Geoffrey.

Still he did not move.  He did not blink or breathe.

He did not _scream_ even as fury bubbled up his throat and clashed against the back of his teeth.

\---

A boy with a strange hat invaded his sight after the sun had sunk low, the burning rays blinding Geoffrey from the sight of his sister defending a strange woman with hair the color of pale roses. He hadn’t seen Volke since watching him run off, but losing sight of him was hardly something strange.

“Is this one a legend too? I don’t recognize his crests.”

“Oh!” The girl’s voice, and then she was in his sight as well. As short as the boy, with blonde hair and pale skin. There was blood on her shoulder. “This is-, hmm.” A hand lifted to tap at her jaw, confusion in her face. “Well shoot, I don’t remember either.” She turned to the left, bouncing up on her toes, “Robin! Robin, what’s this one called again?”

A moment of shifted parchment and the voice replied, the one that had dogged Geoffrey through water, or glass, or whatever that unknown place of grey vagueness had been, "Geoffrey, I think." He didn't say it correct, keeping the vowel short in the common way. It really didn't matter, but the old irritation Geoffrey had known as a child came to life behind his still eyes.

"Probably goes by Jeff," the girl decided, hands on her hips as she winked. "Can't think he'd use a big ole boring name like that."

She was a child. A child involved in his capture, but still in no way deserving of how fiercely Geoffrey wished to snap at her for the _butchery_ of his name.

The boy smiled, his hand darting up quick to save his hat from a sudden breeze, “Frederick uses his whole name.”

The girl flapped a hand, smiling up at Geoffrey with bright teeth. “Psh, Freddy is as boring as his name.”

A shout caught their attention before the boy could offer any response. Both turned to the valley, their shadows long. “Is that-.”

“Oh, fiddlesticks!” The girl stomped her foot, the wind forcing the pale bunches of her hair to shiver. “I just patched that shirt for him too!”

The voice, this Robin, made a humored sound. “Why don’t you and your new friend make sure Owain’s alright?”

The girl evidently liked the thought. She bounced again and whistled until a brown pony trotted in sight, “That’s a great idea!” She mounted with less grace than one born to the saddle would, though appeared no less pleased with herself as she twirled a staff in her hand. “See you later, Ricken! Jeff and I are off!”

What?

Geoffrey didn’t voice his protest, didn’t even mean to focus the entirety of his attention on the girl. His eyes shifted from the horizon regardless, a new strangeness within. One that flowed out and to the unknown steed below. Broad shoulders shifted beneath the saddle, Geoffrey’s grip yet firm on the lance and reins. The girl clicked her pony down the hill, and Geoffrey could not help but direct his own steed after.

_What was this?_

Still he didn’t blink, didn’t breathe. He shifted forward in the saddle even though he didn’t mean to, and wind threw back his hair as they descended into the battle below.


	2. Chapter 2

The sun finally came out after they crossed the Marhauts.

The wheat fields surrounding Nados spread far and gold under the evening light. The waycastle was barely seen in the distance, a squared tower that had managed to stay upright even when the main structure had crumbled so near it during the war. A village was still stood around the periphery of the fallen castle, most of the houses and market only a few years old. Crimea did not bear so many scars as Elincia had once feared, but Nados was so much an exception. Local lore had even decreed the remains of the castle as cursed, reconstruction halted after there had been so many injuries in the attempt.

Poor Largo. He was such a sweet man, always so warm and cheerful. Maybe he no more grieved the loss of his arm, but Elincia could not help the sorrow the welled whenever they met.

Here again was that same soft despair, as the wrecked sight of Nados forced her to sigh.

Marcia pulled back on the reins enough to slow their descent, her brows high and concerned when she looked over her shoulder, “You still feel alright, milady?”

No, but Elincia was not cruel enough to say so. “Of course,” she assured, incapable as she was of hiding the exhausted rasp of her voice. “Thank you so much for flying me back.”

“Oh, it wasn’t any trouble!” There was not another in the world so effortlessly kind as Marcia. So instantly and happily ready to do what she could to aid others. “I can’t imagine having to go back through the pass with the Royal Knights.” Her shoulders hunched briefly in distaste, “It’s so cold and quiet down there.”

Cold, but safe. Quiet, but as straight and true a route through the last of the Marhauts as there was. At least when unable to just fly through the jagged line of the mountains’ peaks.

Maybe Elincia had been selfish in climbing behind the saddle the moment Marcia had offered. Not a word to the knights, not a glance to whomever had taken Geoffrey upon their steed, Elincia had not been capable of such nicety when the fate of her lady and pegasus were so uncertain. They were yet so high, but Elincia could not help the anxiety that climbed her throat as they continued towards the castletown.

But had Amaranth even made it to Nados?

A foolish thought. The Royal Knights hadn’t galloped forth just by chance. They’d been alerted somehow, no doubt by a Nados herald giving word that Amaranth had appeared with only Duchess Delbray on her back.

That was sense, was rational, and yet Elincia just couldn’t leash her unease. “Did the Nados guards send a messenger to meet you all in the Schterik?”

Her hands lost feeling when Marcia’s head shook to the side, “Nope. Kieran had us post up far enough inside that no one could see us from the other end while the runner went to find where you all had holed up.” She had to mean the Fireman. To think that any of her people might have been left behind was not a thought Elincia could stomach. “We were waiting for the guy to come back, but then Lord Renning-.”

“Pardon?” Elincia pressed nearer Marcia’s back, determined to hear past the shearing of wind. “Did you say Lord Renning?”

Marcia slowed them further, her words less a trial to hear, “Yessirree. He was up front and gave the order to go after General Geoffrey’s horse came in sight.”

Oh goddess. Uncle Renning had come all this way and Elincia hadn’t even _noticed_.

Her stomach clenched worse, throat growing tight. Silly of course. He wouldn’t go away without seeing her. Not if he’d been concerned enough to leave his little cabin. Elincia would trust in that, or would ride to him herself once this nightmare was over. “I can’t believe he went to such trouble.”

“Aw, it was hardly your fault!” Marcia was quick to assure. “Who knew the valley would blow up the way it did?”

She spoke truth, but Elincia hardly felt the better for it. Perhaps she shouldn’t have made the journey at all, no matter if the risk had been so small. A week to get there, and a week back, her retinue kept small enough to ride swiftly. Oh, but she’d looked forward to it for so long! A chance to see the resurgence of Crimea for herself, and to again know the companionship of her dearest friends with no more than a squire in attendance.

A silly thing, really. Maybe even cruel, to have forced Geoffrey along when everything between them felt strained and uncertain.

“We should have left sooner,” Elincia admitted, shame clinging to her throat to burden yet another with her mistakes. “The moment the fight began. We might not have been pursued like we were today.” But Amaranth had been so _ill_. So low and ragged and miserable, the thought of moving her unduly impossible to consider. But she’d only grown more agitated and restless in that ravine, shrouded in darkness and so far from the sky.

And now Elincia could not even be sure she’d made it across the mountains.

“Can’t believe those idiots actually went after you,” Marcia muttered, as cross as she ever was with her brother. “You think they even realized who they were trying to clobber?”

Dear goddess, hopefully not. There was no other reason that Elincia had worked so hard to keep herself and her retinue from sight once conflict had scented the air. No doubt the same reason that the Royal Knights had ridden forth cloaked. Struggle was still so common in the world, but she could not allow her country’s blood to be spilt for foreign causes.

No one, not Begnion or those attempting separation, would be able to claim Crimea involvement in that needless massacre.

“I doubt it,” Elincia sighed, even as unease curled in her gut. “I never saw a commander, and those that came near were too intent on battle.” They must have assumed her the vanguard of a new threat, one attempting to flank the main force. There was little other reason why the empire had turned upon them so decisively, or let them alone when the Royal Knights had gathered Geoffrey and retreated back towards the Schterik.

Elincia could not yet see them when she glanced below, the knights surely still within the dark caverns of the pass.

A concern that swiftly faded when pale wings caught her eye.

There could be no doubt, even from this distance.

Amaranth had not made it to the waycastle, maybe had not even intended to. Whether by intention or mistake she’d come to rest in a meadow far east of the stables, hidden on all sides by walls of wheat. Elincia had never seen her from this height, those wings so lovely in the sunlight.

At least until they came closer.

That Amaranth still had any feathers left seemed an impossibility. They were spread all around her, as if shaken loose by a sudden landing. Her wings were not even folded but spread to their full size, laying limply against the ground as if the effort to tuck them had proven too much. Amaranth was not even standing, her head against the meadow grass.  She-, oh, but she looked so _still_.  As still as Lucia was, her hair a brilliant blue cascade against those ragged wings. “It’s alright, milady.”

A hand touched her own, and Elincia then realized how her fingers were digging into Marcia’s waist, “I-I-.”

“Maybe she’s just tired,” Marcia soothed, her voice barely heard past the terrored pace of Elincia’s heart. “It’s not so uncommon for a peagsus to lay down for a little while, if their shoulders get heavy.”

Was she right, was such true? Amaranth had never done so before, at least not in her sight. She’d never been so sick either. So wane and miserable, nothing clearer in the loss of her feathers than some manner of illness that Elincia could not even name.

They landed after a moment, the meadow scented in the freshness of summer. Marcia’s steed trilled as they neared, but Amaranth did not lift her head.

Not even when Elincia dropped from the back of the saddle and knelt before her, “My love?”

Amaranth made no sound, but her nostrils flared as her weary eyes cracked open.

For a moment Elincia could not even _breathe._ Relief burned beneath her flesh and in her eyes, much as she hated the sensation. Elincia had already shed too many tears today, more for Amaranth than ever before in her life. “I’m so sorry,” she managed, the words forced past her clenching throat as she knelt and took Amaranth’s jaw in her hands. The flesh was warm, the proof of life so evident in the brief flex of muscles beneath her palms. Amaranth made some noise in her throat, a trembled pitched thing that broke Elincia’s heart as nothing had before.

“It’s alright,” Elincia insisted, as much to herself as she did to her steed. “Everything is fine, we’re home now.” She stroked Amaranth’s forehead and tucked away the tangled mess of her forelock before pressing a kiss to her dirtied brow. There would be time to clean her later, once they got her to the stables. The grooms there had no doubt already began making preparations for a pegasus, so long as a sentry had noticed Marcia’s steed gliding down from the mountains. 

“Her leg is trapped.”

Elincia looked to where Marcia stood beside Amaranth’s other flank, blood still and eyes wide, “What?”

Marcia gestured at Lucia, and then down to the ground, “Duchess Delbray, her leg is pinned under Amaranth’s side.”

Cruel, but Elincia could not help but push immediately to her feet and step around. Lucia was still sideways in the saddle, her hands yet tied. Elincia undid the knot with shaking hands and touched her lady’s glowing throat, but there was still no pulse. No evidence of life.

“Is she-.”

“I don’t know,” Elincia breathed, a brief second taken to tuck her bangs behind her ears. A wasted effort. The motion brought no calm, and the wind just threw her hair back forward anyway. “Just help me, please.”

A moment and Marcia knelt against Amaranth’s side, a shoulder beneath the thick joint of her wing. She took a breath and pushed up, that meager lift enough for Elincia to slide her lady free of the stirrups and drag her away on the grass.

Lucia was pale as the moon, light yet in her face and hair. She’d not looked so relaxed since before they’d made the journey to Telgram, her slumber never so peaceful as in their own bed. Elincia smoothed long bangs away from her forehead, even the stubborn ones so intent on passing over Lucia’s left eye. She was covered in grime and dirt, her garments so much a travel stained wreck that it’d been unnecessary for her to take any disguise when fleeing Telgram. But she wouldn’t be so soiled for long. Only until Elincia could bring her to the waycastle and wash this nightmare from her flesh. "Darling," Elincia tried, so quiet a plea as she stroked Lucia's dusty cheek. "Please, won't you wake?"

She didn’t, but Elincia hadn’t truly thought she would.

“Milady?” Marcia’s voice was low and reluctant, “Anything?”

Elincia shook her head, refusing the renewed burn of her eyes with every breath. The day was not yet done, so much to be tended before she could let grief take her.

For now she only pushed to her feet and stepped to where Marcia was kneeling at Amaranth’s side. "Do you think she will stand?" A distraction, though her pegasus deserved no less attention.

She could even have already had that attention, had Elincia given Geoffrey's wishes any true consideration.

"I wouldn't want to make her," Marcia pushed up on her knees, sunlight catching on thin scratches that splintered down the left side of her breastplate. "Not with how tired she is. Tomorrow for sure, but trying to get her up now might-, she might not..."

"We will make sure she's comfortable," Elincia managed, as unwilling to hear the words as Marcia was to speak them. "If you could take Duchess Delbray-."

"Oh no, milady please!" Marcia whistled at her steed, brows high and unhappy. "You go right ahead and take Apples, I don't mind waiting around."

But Apples had not come near. He trilled again and nosed at Amaranth's neck, his sharp ears so low and unhappy. Marcia called his name and reached, but he circled away from her attempt to take his reins. There was such youth in his stride, more than Elincia was sure she'd ever seen from her own dear pegasus. "Apples, come on!” Marcia tried again, an embarrassed hue darkening her cheeks. “It's not time to play!"

He ignored Marcia once more, taking flight for the bare moment it took to reach Amaranth's other side. With a single graceful fall he then folded his legs beneath him and tucked near, a brilliantly white wing spread to cover Amaranth whole.

Marcia subsided when Elincia made a sound, chest too thick and tight to manage true words.

“I-, I’ll go borrow a cart,” Marcia offered, already rushing away towards the waycastle before Elincia could even attempt to find her voice.

Selfish, but it was easier to be alone. A sentiment so at odds with her childhood, when the rare day spent with nothing but her own company had been thought a torture. She was so far from those dear days now, from her father’s embrace and her mother’s laugh.

The wind stole her sigh as Elincia let her shoulders fall. The grass was soft beneath her, if yet littered with silver tipped feathers. She came as close to Amaranth’s side as she could before offering her hand to Apples, and then stroked his jaw only after he did not balk at her nearness. That he was upset was so easy to see, and Elincia had not the heart to force another pegasus to further discomfort this day. Apples knew her scent, but was not so familiar with her as he was Amaranth. They were stabled together through necessity, though that was more for this young steed’s comfort than anything else. He had come from a land filled with those of his kind, but Crimea could not offer him the same. Not beyond Amaranth, though she had seemed as startled to find another pegasus as Apples had been pleased when they’d first been introduced.

It was difficult not to smile recalling how they’d circled one another, Amaranth so suspicious while this dear creature had pranced around in so evident a delight.

They were all so far from that delight now.

Apples even stared with such miserable eyes, as though he felt Amaranth’s every ache like his own.

"Don’t fret," Elincia murmured, carding through his forelock with careful fingers. "She wouldn’t leave you to race the clouds all alone.”

But if she did-, if this was the _last_ -.

No, Elincia would not give thought to something so terrible. Amaranth was so strong, so beautiful and dear, so _forever_. She still breathed. Her heart yet beat.

That was enough.

“Rest,” Elincia whispered, her eyes bright and burning against Amaranth’s shoulder. “Rest so long as you need, my love, and I will return soon."

\---

The sun was completely hidden behind the mountains by the time Elincia made the waycastle in a straw lined cart. The sky was awash in purple and gold, the pinprick of stars seen in the darkest extents. The knights had finally cleared the pass, the sound of their approach unmistakable in the still evening air. They were yet an hour off if they did not push their steeds, not that there was any need when now within their own borders.

The cart came to a halt beside the barracks, a hefty draft horse slowing to an eventual stop when the groom clicked her tongue.

The guards made no challenge when Elincia climbed down, but moved immediately to lift Lucia from the back. Elincia came near enough to hold the long fall of her lady’s hair, bile again souring her mouth when the faint glow affixed to each blue strand reflected off her breastplate. Neither the guards nor the groom made any mention of that strangeness. No one spoke at all as two of them bore Lucia up to the second floor, where a maid waited inside a sparsely furnished room. There were two beds ready, and the maid went off at once when Elincia requested some heated water.

On Crimean soil, beneath Crimean skies, and still Lucia was unchanged.

Her chest did not rise, her heart did not beat. The light in her flesh and garments was easier to note indoors, the quiet glow casting the furnishings in so vague a shadow.

The maid returned quickly enough that the water must have already been heated, or perhaps she’d woken a mage for the task. Elincia thanked her quietly and waited until she was again alone before setting to work.

But so quickly it became evident that there was nothing she could do.

Lucia’s boots would not come undone. The buckles against her thighs refused to unclasp, and for no reason Elincia could understand. They were not rusted or damaged. Not altered in the least, save for that terrible glow. The clasps on her jacket were just as immovable, her long gloves the same. Her necklace was the only aspect that would be moved, and even then only discovered by chance. Elincia could not unfasten it though, the thin metal denying her every attempt as frustration heated her blood whole.

The sheath belted to Lucia’s hip was just the same. Long and cumbersome and-.

And empty.

Elincia sucked in a harsh breath, covering her mouth in a surge of startled despair.

Lucia’s sword had been left behind in the valley.

Oh, but Lucia _adored_ that sword. There was not a night that she had neglected its care, and she always smiled so sweetly whenever anyone paid it a compliment. The last Lucia had of her mother, and Elincia had not even thought to pluck the blade from the ground.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. There was nothing else she could offer, and no reason to. Not until her lady was wake and herself discovered the lapse.

An exhausted thrum fluttered beneath Elincia’s fingers as she reached for the bowl and wet a rag. Even if she could not make Lucia more comfortable the grime against her skin could at least be cleaned. Her hair should be brushed as well, though there was nothing that Elincia could use beyond her fingers. It was too late, and surely too unnecessary, to trouble the maid for something so vain as a comb. Lucia certainly wouldn’t were she conscious. She’d make due with a messy braid or cord her thick hair behind her, no other concern given until a hot bath was at hand.

A luxury Elincia could give neither of them tonight.

This was all she could offer, the rag wrung before she began sliding it down her lady’s face.

It took a long moment to realize that the dirt was not coming away.

Elincia forced herself to focus and rewet the cloth, holding her lady firm in one hand while she scrubbed with the other.

The rag came away clean, moisture glistening on Lucia’s dirtied cheek like starlight.

“Fine,” Elincia breathed. Water ran down her hand when her fingers fisted. “ _Fine_.”

She was not alone with her frustration for long. Geoffrey was carried in moments later, hanging between Oscar and Astrid like a senseless drunkard. His hair was a mess, his clothes no different. Mud was still splattered against the crests of his armor, the only deterrent from recognition that had been available to them at the time. Both his escorts looked winded, the stairs no doubt a difficult endeavor to manage with Geoffrey’s weight. “Here,” Elincia managed, stepping towards the other bed. “Right on the sheets-, no, don’t worry about getting them dirty, just lay him down.”

Astrid left after a careful bow, her eyes lidded in so evident a tire.

An act in vain, but Elincia still attempted to make Geoffrey more at ease. Oscar tried to assist, but none of the buckles to his armor would come undone. His boots refused to be unstrapped, the whole of him filthier than Elincia had ever seen.

She could not help but sigh, and lifted an exhausted hand to tuck back her hair, “Oscar?”

He unbent from getting Geoffrey’s long legs better settled on the bedding, “Your Highness?”

"Geoffrey’s steed, I-, I don’t remember his-.”

“His name is Farther,” Oscar supplied, his own gauntlets unbuckled and stripped with a casualness that Elincia would forever adore him for. “And we caught hold of him before turning back for the border.”

That poor creature. Forced to so much terror and toil for Elincia’s sake. But at least he was in familiar hands now. Geoffrey would be pleased when he woke. Would no doubt seek him out the very moment he was again himself, any concerns brushed off as if he’d never been struck down by magic that Elincia could not even fathom. “I had worried no one thought to.”

Oscar twisted his neck to the side, a soft crack then echoing that crawled up Elincia’s spine. “Kieran got him on the way back. He’s taking care of him now.”

Then Farther was in the perfect hands, no one more gentle or attuned to a warhorse’s needs. “Thank you,” Elincia breathed, turning away before Oscar could see her composure fall. Her eyes did not even burn, but she was just so tired. So exhausted and uncertain in every way. Enough so that she did not hesitate to rest on the corner of Lucia’s bedding and reach for her hand. “I wish to begin for the capital tomorrow. Will you ensure that there is a wagon fitted for the journey?”

He agreed and a moment later Elincia was again alone. Even with the two dearest people in her world in her very sight.

She would not be so lonely for long though. This-, this strangeness in their flesh was nothing that couldn’t be fixed. Elincia had not the knowledge of a scholar or the experience of a sage, but Melior held both. If neither her lady or Geoffrey woke by time they made the capital, then surely the nature of this terrible magic only needed to be understood. Bastian would have some remedy, or at least the route to one. That would be her hope. A faraway hope, one dependent on the endeavor of others.

Even after all this time Ike was again proven right. To existent in harmony with the world was to rely on the strength of her allies, and to give of her own when she could.

Surely an ideal the departed goddess would approve of, but Elincia could not help how such dreaded uncertainty curled in her gut.

She could not even weather that uncertainly by herself, as the faint rasp of swaying fabric drew her eyes.

Uncle Renning was in the doorway, the Fireman in his arms. He stood as proud and noble in his armor as Elincia forever remembered, though the sight of his helm nearly made her shiver. Something only made worse by how the darkness of the hall clung to his cloak so.

He almost did not seem her uncle in such light.

There was expectation in his stance but Elincia did not leave her lady’s bed, a limp hand yet between both her own and held tight. “Uncle?”

She could not see the direction of his eyes, uncertain as to why the corners of his mouth deepened in a frown, “There are only two pallets.”

Elincia glanced over at Geoffrey before back at her uncle, “Yes?” Had he thought to sleep here, to keep watch over them in the night?

Uncle Renning was silent a moment, his right hand flexing against the Fireman’s shoulder. “You did not intend the same care for this man?”

Elincia had intended nothing at all.

Had not spared more than the briefest thought for the other victim of her reluctance.

Shame heated her throat, but she beckoned them near all the same. “Oh, yes. I-, yes, of course.”

Uncle Renning held his burden until another frame and bedding were laid against the far wall. He did not linger as Elincia and the maid set to work, vain as their attempts were. The Fireman was just as unkempt as Geoffrey, and nearly as dirty. His mask would not come away, nor would his gloves or belt, or anything that might have made his rest more comfortable. His scarf was as loose as Lucia’s hair, but still refused to be unwound.

The three of them yet glowed as the sun sank, a terrible luminescence as soft as candle light.

Elincia kissed her lady once more and touched softly at Geoffrey's brow before she left, reluctant as she was to depart before Lucia’s dear blue eyes opened wide.

There was still so much to attend though. Oscar could be trusted to find transportation, but that did not solve the problem of Amaranth. She was surely still in the meadow. Someone, if not Marcia herself, would have made mention had Amaranth moved to the stables. To force her into a cart was impractical, lest they could somehow get a canvas tarp beneath her and then lift. But even that was foolish to imagine. Amaranth would hate to be surrounded by the many people that would be necessary to lift her weight, especially when so wane and ill.

They would just have to wait until she had the strength to rise, even if that meant sending Lucia and her brother towards Melior while Elincia waited behind.

Thoughts for the morning, or at least until she returned to the meadow with some blankets. Some fruit and water too, though Marcia had likely already sent for the same. More would do no harm though, especially with the chill of the meadow. To spend the night there was not so terrible a hardship, not if her nearness brought Amaranth even the slightest ease.

Elincia wasn’t even sure it would.

The hall held her weight when she put her shoulders to the wall and looked to the ceiling. There were no answers there. None in the stars far beyond either, no matter how the old inclination to fold her hands and pray tickled at the inside of her palms.

There was no one there to hear her prayers anymore.

Again her shoulders fell, so exhausted a sigh leaving her throat as she looked back to the room that held her lady. Her breath caught when she noted a shadow in approach, but soon enough ease returned to her blood.

Uncle Renning had not departed, even though she’d barely spoken to him earlier. The height of his shoulders was a remembered reassurance, as was the low sway of his cloak. The light was lesser here, but there was nothing even vaguely sinister in the shadows that hid his eyes. Elincia was silly to have thought otherwise, even if the continued presence of his helm made something uncertain well inside her.

Still, this was her own dear uncle. Broad and tall and so effortlessly commanding in every aspect of his mien and stride. Uncle Renning looked more the man of her memories than he had in so very long. Elincia could almost picture her mother and father laughing beside him, though few had been the moments when he and Mother had not been irritated with each other in some manner.

Strange, how Elincia could look back on that tension with such fondness.

“Your Highness,” he murmured, halting not so far from her. So terribly formal, though at least he did not bow. “You’ve a moment?”

Elincia moved away from the wall, “Is something wrong?”

“I only require a word, then you ought attempt some rest.”

Impossible, but Elincia did not say such aloud. “But I can’t see your face,” she teased, forcing her lips to curve in cheer she didn’t know how to feel. “My uncle always cautioned me against speaking to those I’m not certain I know.”

His lips quirked beneath his mustache, that enough to make Elincia’s smile less a lie. “Your uncle sounds a rather wearisome individual.”

“Never,” Elincia assured, ever more pleased when the helm was finally lifted away. Uncle Renning’s thick hair was a sweat spiked mess, his fingers forcing deep furrows through his bangs when he attempted to bring some order. There was a bruise against his hair line. “Uncle? Are you hurt?”

He hummed in question, but only waved away her concern when she gestured. "Nothing worth the mentioning."

Elincia frowned, "Uncle-."

"There should be another patrol assigned to the entrance of the Schterik." He was never so abrupt as when speaking of the border or matters of defense. Elincia did not press him, not when the weight of Crimea was so swiftly recalled to her shoulders. “At least until the conflict beyond is resolved.”

Prudent, but such a precaution might draw undue attention. “It would not be difficult for any to accuse Crimea of involvement if an additional patrol was noted." It was tiring just to consider the thought of fielding inquiries from either side of the conflict. Begnion would surely attempt to make some demand of good will, and the separatists would likely attempt the same if they did not first stoop to violence.

"Agreed," Uncle Renning murmured, the directness of his gaze enough to be unnerving. “A contingent in plain clothes then, only to ensure there is no attempt made by either faction to bring the conflict over our border.”

There was little else Elincia strove so greatly for than to keep the despair of war and bloodshed from again soaking Crimea soil. "Would you think such likely?”

“I would wager the separatists more probable than Begnion, and even then they would perhaps only use the Schterik as a means of retreat.”

Elincia would have thought the same, had a Bennish senator not sat on Crimea’s doorstep and demanded obedience not so long past. “We will take no part in their affairs,” she murmured as a dull ache began to swell in her left temple. Perhaps she’d been awake too long, not that slumber was yet at hand. “But if retreat was their true cause, I…I don’t know if I could force them back into a hopeless situation.”

Uncle Renning regarded her for a quiet moment, his eyes so heavy. Almost dull. “Would you grant them asylum?”

Would she?

To refuse any who sought haven might be the same as executing them herself. War was not a sensible beast, and those that manned the empire’s rank and file could not be counted on to act rationally when in the intensity of battle. The empire might even slaughter those attempting surrender, sense and humanity drowned beneath the frantic bloodlust of battle.

Proven if only by those soldiers who had been so ready to let her blood.

Even surrender made to a Bennish commander might not matter. To let the separatists live would no doubt be considered more a liability than mercy.

But to let them take haven beneath Crimea’s neutrality was no less a risk. Would they be peaceful, or attempt any violence upon her land or people? So desperate as their situation, she could not be certain they wouldn’t. Or that Begnion would not take such an act as hostile. Empress Sanaki would likely be doubtful of any accusations presented to her, but whomever held lordship of the Grann would perhaps act before Sanaki could interfere.

Elincia sighed through her nose, “I don’t know.”

Uncle Renning nodded, the weight of his gaze less, “A decision better made in the moment of petition, should they even attempt.”

So far from a child, and yet his approval still warmed her as would standing on sand beneath the summer sun. “I’m so glad to see you,” Elincia admitted, her hands clasping before she could resist the habit. Too earnest, her advisers would always scold. Too honest, Elincia was sure they meant. “I’ve meant to ride to your cabin a dozen times.” She made no excuse, too tired to attempt and make her negligence seem less than it was.

But Uncle Renning only shook his head, eyes again dull. “There is no need.”

A lie, even if he believed otherwise.

“I’m still glad to see you,” Elincia smiled, stepping closer. “I feared you would be gone before I had a moment to find you.”

“Nonsense,” he scowled, his voice again so familiarly stern. So reminiscent of the days before Melior’s fall that Elincia couldn’t resist how her smile became so wide and true. “Have the ethics of knighthood degraded so far that you would think me so bereft of responsibility?”

Laughter escaped before Elincia could leash the sound, her voice a startling brightness to her own ears, “And what responsibility is that, my lord?”

His eyes gentled, the faintest amusement seen in the corners of his lips, “To see my charge returned to where she ought be.”

Elincia’s eyes went wide, “You mean Melior?”

His chin dipped in agreement, “I will escort you home.”

Elincia bit her lip, her stomach clenching sour. She reached for his hand and after a moment he gave it, no grasp ever so steady and sure. “And you’ll stay? Just-, just until they-.” She could do no more than gesture to the room that held Lucia and Geoffrey, her throat suddenly so closed and dry.

She saw his sigh more than she heard it. Uncle Renning’s voice was then a murmur, quieter than she’d ever remembered him to be, “If you wish.”

Elincia tightened her hold of his hand and tucked herself as near as his armor would allow. As if she were again a little girl taking shelter from a storm, “I do.”

\---

Never before had he been pitted against something so foul.

The creatures wore a mask, a torn canvas sack that was too threadbare to truly hide the monster beneath. The fabric was damp from unknown fluids and shifted with each gnash of over large jaws. Flesh sagged in nearly translucent swatches, muscle and bone showing through. Their very limbs and bones were deformed, so many of these beasts hunchback in appearance. Though such did nothing to lessen the danger of their arms. It was not blades they carried, but claws that curled out from brutish fingers.

As long as a drake, and just as sharp.

Geoffrey could not escape the stench, a perspiring decay that saturated the air every time he was forced near. That he could even note the odor was beyond his comprehension. His lungs were yet still, his breath nonexistent.

Was he even still alive?

“Nice job, Jeff! Go get that other one too!”

His arm forced the lance free from the creature’s chest despite Geoffrey’s every attempt to resist, that sagging flesh coming apart like wet parchment. These monsters did not even bleed, pale fluids oozing from their wounds with the lethargy of molasses.

There wasn’t time to be disgusted, his steed pivoting as Geoffrey pulled on the reins. Another monster was stalking near, and there was not a single thing he could do but lift his lance and gallop forth.

A brief skirmish, the creature already weak and on the cusp of death. It collapsed after a single pass.

“Wooo!” the girl cheered, Geoffrey’s attention again so entirely focused on her every aspect. “Alright, let’s go get that silly boy patched up.” She spurred her pony forth, and he was helpless to do aught but follow after.

This had to be magic, something worse. Something unholy and vile, and Geoffrey _could not stand it._

He existed in the will of others, in the will of that voice, that _Robin_. His sister did as well, no other explanation possible. She would not do this-, none of them would do this, if invisible strings were not sewn to their arms and legs, unseen gags choking their words. Geoffrey had seen her twice, had even seen Lucia fall to a knee, but every time he’d been turned aside.

By his own hands, but never by his choice.

He could not even begin to resist the dominion of this blonde _witch_ , there not the least lag in his body when she demanded he strike out in defense or attack.

Geoffrey hated her.

The way she laughed, the smile on her face, the blasted _insistence_ that surged so strong whenever danger crossed her path.

He would leave her in this nest of beasts in a single moment if he could, chivalry be damned. Would take his sister and immediately strike for wherever Elincia was being held. Lucia would know, would have found out by now if those she was forced to defend were even half so talkative as this-.

The girl pulled up short, Geoffrey forced to do the same behind her. She sat up straighter and lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the sun, voice low and muttered, “Now if I was a little ball of energy that had no regard for-.” A horn blared, climbing in a short series of pitches. A signal Geoffrey didn’t understand. The girl turned in her saddle, her brows high and pleased as she took in the rest of the valley. “Oh, looks like that was the last one!” She smiled at him then, and waved like the child she was. “Thanks for the help! Maybe we’ll team up again later!”

He could not snarl at her, but that did not stop him from trying.

But soon she was not even there.

Nothing was. Not that foreign steed, not the lance. The-, the valley was gone!

Again, that strange greyness.

An expanse of nothing. No sound, no light. Geoffrey was more aware, but that didn’t change how he felt wrapped in wool. Almost suffocated-.

_…think we’ll pack it in for the day…_

Robin. Again. So far away, and then near, nowhere that Geoffrey could see. He still wanted to scream, to tear this grey asunder until he found his sister, until he saw that Elincia was well, was _safe_ -.

Geoffrey fell.

There was no wind in his face, nothing rushing past his ears. Geoffrey wasn’t even sure how he knew, but then the greyness was no more. Shadow cascaded in his sight, like tendrils of black smoke. Darkness washed as far as he could see, again allowed direction of his own eyes. The shadows twisted around him on either side, silence as unnerving as the fall.

But only for a moment longer.

Then impact forced his knees to buckle, chest seizing as if on the cusp of inhaling.

And-, and he even did!

Fire shot through his veins, the strangest relief lifting his eyes. Geoffrey sucked air past his teeth and only then noticed Lucia beside him, braced forward on her hands. She-, good goddess, she looked _fine_. Not bloodied, not maimed, her hair and clothes still so strangely clean. She was sucking in breath no differently than himself, as if starved for the act.

Movement flashed in Geoffrey’s periphery, his arm raised in a soldier's aggression until he saw Volke beside him on unsteady feet. Their eyes met but briefly before the clear tread of an unknown stride caught Geoffrey’s attention. He did not wait to be approached, blood too quick and burning to not act in immediate defense. Geoffrey pulled Lucia upright with him and clenched a fist in the slack fabric of Volke’s shoulder. He forced them away to the right, stumbling down when the elevation fell away from beneath his feet.

Steps, only three. They’d been on some sort of platform, a dais that was near wholly saturated in the same vague darkness when Geoffrey glanced back.

The approaching stride had faded, but that was no true comfort. His blood was still so swift, his lungs too. The stumbled sounds of their retreat echoed with the heaviness of their breath.

Was there nothing in this place but shadows?

Geoffrey could not find a wall, couldn’t even truly see the floor. Dark wisps swirled around his ankles and legs, fogs of the same shifting as Geoffrey thrust past. Lucia had finally found her feet, less desperation in each breath. She did not pull away but even urged them quicker, her words low and tight, “Did you see her?”

It was not strange that Elincia remained her first concern, but Geoffrey couldn’t help the swell of disappointment that Lucia was as ignorant as himself. “No.” He hadn’t the attention to waste on more words, his chest still so strangely tight. He could not stop sucking in air, his throat dry and burning even as he inhaled again.

His body burned so similarly, not that Geoffrey knew why. It was a trial to move his legs, to keep his fingers fisted. Despite that ache he did not let go of his sister, and only gripped Volke the more tightly when the fool tried to pull away. There was not even anywhere for him to go. The darkness had not lifted, everything yet shrouded in a strange merger of shadow and grey gloom. If this was a dungeon it was unlike one Geoffrey had ever seen or heard. Still they had yet to reach a wall, or structure of any kind. There was nothing like that platform they had appeared on, not a single aspect of this place as clearly defined.

“Wait,” Lucia breathed, though it took Geoffrey a moment to give her words true heed, or to notice that her feet were sliding as he dragged her along.

They had not found shelter but Geoffrey was not sure there was any to be had. “Do you see anyone?”

“Not-, not yet.”

Geoffrey halted, though his legs only ached the worse to finally be still. Volke took the opportunity to jerk from his grasp, but Geoffrey had no attention to spare him. Even if Lucia had seen no one that didn’t mean others weren’t lurking near. Prisoners or guards, or something worse. Geoffrey would discount nothing, not when he’d been forced near creatures made of nightmare and decay. He did not note the stench of those beasts though, nor did he see a silhouette of anyone, man or monster. The movement of his chest lessened as he squinted into the surrounding darkness. Maybe he’d finally caught his breath, the insistence between each inhale less forceful. “Any idea where we are?”

Lucia was the only one to reply, though she just made a sound that implied more ignorance.

Not that it really mattered where they were, not when their lady’s fate was still uncertain. Geoffrey fought to keep his hands from fisting, “Tell me Elincia went on.”

Lucia rubber her arm and looked back out into the darkness, “...You know she didn’t.”

His chest seized anew. Foolish though. They were more strangers than otherwise these days, but that didn’t mean Elincia was anything but herself. So entirely herself, and so willing to damn all for the sake of others. At least when not before the eyes of a nation.

An unkind thought, but Geoffrey just didn’t care.

He didn’t even have words, his fists again curling tight as so far-reaching a frustration bathed him once more.

“Don’t,” Lucia sighed. Her eyes were closed, maybe in denial of her own irritation. “Just-, just don’t. You fell, and she-.”

“I fell?” He hadn’t, at least not before coming aware in this strange dominion. Geoffrey hadn’t taken a fall from any steed in years.

“You both did, you and the Fireman,” Lucia insisted, nothing dishonest in her face. “You can’t really think she would just leave you behind like that?”

This-, this was not the place, and certainly not the time, to have that conversation.

Geoffrey sighed and put a hand through his hair. “I don’t know why she won’t just listen-.”

“Because she doesn’t have to listen to you.” Lucia sounded on the verge of argument, her patience still so thin. “She doesn’t have to listen to anyone, she’s-.”

“Then why am I her general?” Geoffrey hissed, nearly as nettled as he’d been in that goddessdamned ravine. “Why am I in charge of the Royal Knights, of Crimea’s borders, of her _safety_ , if my words do not matter?”

He could not help but hate Lucia when sympathy softened her face, “Of course they matter, but-.”

But nothing. “We have to assume she’s been captured,” Geoffrey bit out, glaring back the direction they’d come. He could still see the dais, and so clearly too. Surely they’d walked farther? “That she isn’t here with us can only mean our captors know who she is.”

Lucia sighed, but allowed him his distraction, “And if that’s the case then she's either detained somewhere or being taken to Sienne.”

Sienne was preferred. It likely meant that whoever had taken her had little intention past presenting Elincia to Empress Sanaki for some sort of judgment. Geoffrey had not passed enough time in the empress’ company to know her moods, but Elincia had always spoken of her with enough fondness that there couldn’t be much to fear. But still, if she wasn’t enroute to Sienne…

“We’ll have to figure out which.” Not that Geoffrey had much idea how to even begin.

Lucia hummed agreement as she crossed her arms. “We have to figure out where we are as well. I didn’t recognize that valley, and I’ve never even heard rumor of those creatures we fought.”

Distaste soured Geoffrey’s mouth. “Some Bennish experiment gone wrong?” If the empire was known for anything beyond the might of their legions, it was their fanatical approach to arcana.

Lucia lifted a hand to tap at her cheek, the same sort of thoughtful gesture their mother had always made when parsing arithmetic, “Could be, but that doesn’t really explain where we are, or why we’re fighting them.”

Too true. “I didn’t hear anything useful from anyone,” Geoffrey admitted. “Even after you ran off-.”

“I didn’t  _run off_ ,” Lucia showed her teeth as she tucked her bangs back, eyes sharp. “I couldn’t help but do what they wanted. It-, it was like someone else was holding my hands to a sword and moving my feet wherever I went.”

 _Yes_. “Exactly that,” Geoffrey agreed, voice soft in his relief. He hadn’t truly thought himself the only one so afflicted, but he could not help but be eased by Lucia’s admittance. “I felt the same. There’s a man out there-,” where ever _there_ was, “-called Robin, some sort of fell magician. I think he’s responsible.”

Lucia bit her lip, her brow furrowed, “I’m not sure I-.”

“The voice.” Despite his refusal to be held Volke had not ventured far. Darkness clung to him like a second skin, but even he looked ill at ease. There was a bruise against his cheek that Geoffrey only then noticed.

“The voice,” Geoffrey agreed, turning swiftly back to his sister. “Did you hear one as well? Before we-.”

“Before we were in the valley,” she finished, irritation in the crease of her eyes. “There was one, but I didn’t get a chance to see who they were before I was forced down with those beasts.”

Good goddess, she’d spent the entirety of the battle in that horde. Forced to keep herself and that strange woman from harm while Geoffrey had whiled away the hours acting the part of some blasted guard dog. He couldn’t help the sudden urge to look her over, to confirm once more that she’d been more than a match for those grotesque creatures. “Neither did I,” he admitted, nothing subtle in how he slid back a step to see her more fully, eyes sliding up her arms and legs, across her torso and shoulders. “He was behind me the whole day, talking about some asinine card game while he directed his soldiers.”

Lucia shook her head, her bangs waving like a sail. They were tangled again, but strangely clean despite how she’d spent the last hours. “Not soldiers, or at least not like a proper military.”

That was true. There had been no consistency in uniform or technique. Not even in accent. “You think they’re mercenaries?”

“Maybe.” She rubbed her arm again, not that Geoffrey saw a bruise. “Though I can’t imagine why the Bennish would hand us off to anyone. I still have no idea how they captured us with those lights.”

“What lights?”

Lucia’s eyes grew creased and weary, “You really didn’t see them? Neither of you?” She looked at Volke, but he made no reply. Was staring off towards the dais when Geoffrey glanced at him as well. “These-, goddess, I don’t even know how to describe it-, these balls of fire shot out of the mountain after you cleared the cliff.” Geoffrey didn’t even have to say anything before Lucia huffed, her arms again crossed in her usual tell of impatience. “Don’t look at me like that, Elincia saw them just the same.”

Whatever they’d seen didn’t improve this situation. “And-, and what?” Geoffrey tried, not sure what to even try and picture. “Was it a spell? Did we catch on fire, or-.”

“No, nothing like that,” Lucia sighed, her hand lifting again to tuck back her bangs. “They-, I don’t really know how to describe it. They just landed on you, and then you both fell. Another shot towards me, and I assume the same happened.”

How had he missed great balls of fire in the sky? How had Volke not seen them? Surely he would have called Geoffrey’s attention if he had.

Lucia frowned up at him as her brows curved towards her hairline, “You really didn’t notice?”

Geoffrey almost laughed at her disbelief, his lips curving in exasperation, “I’m sorry, sister, but I was rather busy at the time.” Not everyone had been able to just fly away from the collapse of the mountain’s peak.

She smiled back, tired and wane as it was, “I suppose you were. Is your horse-.” She stopped herself and bit her lip, but Geoffrey waved away her guilt.

If she honestly didn't think he’d not already worried on Farther as much as he possibly could then she was greatly mistaken. “I don’t know. I have to imagine someone took possession of him. A warhorse isn’t something to waste.” But only one uninjured. Some bruises and cuts could be expected after weathering the fall of the cliff, but he couldn’t be sure Farther hadn’t taken greater damage. A thrown shoe, a broken rib, none of which someone unattached would have the patience to tend.

There was nothing Geoffrey could do for him here. And there wouldn’t be, until they found a way out of this dungeon.

“I’m sure someone did,” Lucia told him, though he knew her words were only for his comfort. She did not understand what it was to have a steed, to grow so close and in-tune with another creature that the absence felt like the loss of a limb. She’d even admitted the same to him years ago when speaking of Elincia and Amaranth, fond exasperation in her voice as they’d watched Elincia climb a pear tree just to appease her steed’s sweet tooth.

Still, thinking on Farther or his lady did nothing to quit the spread of unease beneath Geoffrey’s flesh. Something only worsened when a faint flutter of voices erupted from somewhere in the distance.

He took a step away from the sound, appeased when his sister moved with him. A quick glance saw that Volke was still away to the left of them, though he had pulled his mask high. So bare a defense, but Geoffrey did not begrudge him whatever comfort the act brought.

Not when it was again evident that they were not alone here, and that Robin was far from the only threat these shadows might hold.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Melior was a jewel beneath the summer sun.

Every flower opened with the morning, the gardens glossy and so fresh a green beneath the warm light. The capital awoke first in the market district. Elincia could smell fresh bread and baked fruit from the balcony, her stomach growing tight in so bare an interest.

Food was difficult to care on when Lucia had not yet returned to her.

She laid as she had since Nados. Still. Silent. And yet so inexplicably aglow. Almost akin to how Geoffrey's lance and armor had shimmered after the goddess' blessing. But that had been a pure light, soft and warm as if sunlight had taken him hold. This strangeness was nothing the same.

Hope did not blossom in her heart when Elincia beheld this blue hue.

She let her hands go as tight as they wished, each finger curled with a numbing intensity before she again went loose. To be calm was to act calm, to appear calm. Her body would convince her mind, but even if it didn’t then Elincia would at least not appear in a state to others. So much of bearing the crown was merely looking the part. More understood now was the reserve that had so often made Mother’s face seem like a slab of stone. Lips unsmiling, eyes clear and direct, she had unnerved Elincia so often in her childhood. Especially so when her hand had taken Elincia’s chin and tipped it up until their eyes met.

The touch had always been gentle; but to meet another’s eyes, let alone those of her queen mother, had seemed so much a hardship. Especially when Elincia had been so small. Small and so timid, so terribly shy of any that had not been Lucia or her uncle.

But those were only the fleeting freedoms of a child. Freedoms that perhaps she had clung to overlong, happy as she had been tucked away from responsibility, with nothing more pressing than needlework and the domestics of home.

A simple life, one that Elincia had counted herself fortunate to be allowed.

Too simple though. She had been blind, even cruel, in her simplicity.

But those were regrets for another hour. A triple rap sounded and the chamber door swept open as she turned from the balcony.  Already her shoulders had broadened, her eyes lidded in the quiet expectation that a monarch ought-. “Oh, Bastian!” In a single moment her smile was bright and her hands were clasped. She rushed near as the door was shut and immediately embraced him, as she had not done since before the Great War.

Bastian was still for the briefest moment before his arms came around. It was an embrace far more formal than any he’d ever given her. “And a good morn to thee, your Grace.”

“I’m sure it will be now that we are home.” Elincia pulled away and let him kiss her hand.

“As I understand, thee and thine did make Melior some hours before dawn.” His curls fell forward as he straightened, the coils longer than Elincia remembered. But likely that was only the fault of familiarity, of being in another’s presence so often that a body’s eyes forgot to look past memory and notice what was new. "Would that I had been awakened, to greet your Grace properly."

Elincia reclaimed her hand and tucked back her bangs. "I didn't think it necessary. They’ve been like this since the border.” She almost could not bear to look upon Lucia again, not when someone so familiar with her was there to see how the sight of her lady made Elincia so very low. “Had there been the slightest change I would have sent for you, but they are the same.” Still. Silent. Senseless.

Bastian swept past her, pausing first at Lucia’s bedside before turning to Geoffrey’s. He touched neither, and looked on the Fireman from afar rather than stepping near. “Begin from the start, milady, and let not a single detail be counted as too tedious to mention.”

\---

 “…And so they have laid since, bereft of breath but stricken with this unending luminescence.”

“Exactly like this,” Elincia said, gaze again drawn to her still lady. “If there had been any change, I would have known.”

Bastian made a sound, a quiet hum that was his habit when he did not have a ready answer to any difficulty.

To recognize that, to know what it meant, was a disappointment Elincia had not prepared for. Her shoulders grew tight and a fresh nausea spawned behind her eyes. She closed them, and could imagine how false cheer lifted Bastian’s mustache when he spoke, “Tis necessary that I adjourn briefly to mine library before I speculate further. But even so-,” she opened her eyes just as he turned, but wasn’t confident that he hadn’t caught her despair, “-methinks tis nothing malignant in essence.”

He didn’t know. He had no idea. Elincia knew all this without words.

“I imagined so too,” she said anyway, as if she might make her hope truth by nothing but agreement. “It…it didn’t seem to hurt them, the lights.” Geoffrey hadn’t called out when he and the Fireman had been consumed, and neither had Lucia.

But perhaps that only meant that they hadn’t the time to scream.

“These lights…” Bastian laid his palm against the Fireman’s chest, and held there a quiet moment.

A moment long enough that a new anticipation unfurled in Elincia’s blood, bright and sudden and-.

No. Bastian moved away, and the Fireman was yet still.

“Were these lights beheld by any others?”

Elincia let a shuddering breath out through her nose as thwarted hope weighed like lead in her gut. She tucked her bangs behind her ears once more, but knew no ease in the familiarity. “No, no one but those we left behind.” She wished otherwise. That someone else, someone other than the separatists, than Begnion’s soldiers, had witnessed those great blinding spheres. Maybe another would have noticed what she had not. “Uncle Renning and the knights hadn’t left the Schterik yet.”

Bastian lifted his eyes briefly, but quickly returned them to Geoffrey’s face, “Didst thou notice anything strange, with thy uncle?"

“…No, I don’t think so.” Elincia glanced towards the door, but the light wasn’t right to tell if there was anyone on the other side. She lowered her voice anyway. “…Nothing like he was before leaving Melior last fall.”

Bastian shook his head, “Tis not my meaning, but such is easing to know regardless. You said he held the Fireman in his arms, in Nados?”

“Yes,” Elincia agreed, though she wasn’t sure why that mattered. “He carried him here as well.”

“Here?” Bastian’s curls tossed as he whipped around. “Lord Renning was in Melior?”

Had he not been told? “He still is,” Elincia said, the recalled fact enough to startle a smile from her lips. “And he said he’d stay, at least until-.” She could not say it without her voice cracking, and so just gestured at the three beds instead.

To see Bastian smile was something rare.

At least when he smiled like this. Eyes gone in lash-fringed creases of stark pleasure, laugh lines drawn tight to either corner of his mouth and his lips spread enough to show where his back teeth sat unevenly. He looked less the man said to hold Crimea in his purse, and much more the gangly youth that had appeared at Uncle Renning’s side years ago with gaunt cheeks and nervous hands. “Doth thou know where he be?”

"Likely in the stables." Elincia tucked her bangs away once more, though she was not far from just letting her hair down entirely. "I assume so, at least.  He did not say where he was headed after helping me settle them."

Even hours later it was yet...disquieting, to have seen Uncle Renning act so diffidently. So without the commanding presence that had been a staple of Elincia’s childhood. He'd taken silent claim of a corner and held the Fireman aloft just as he had in Nados. Patient. Without expression. Blank and…and so like that man of another name. That hissing creature of shadowed eyes and broken speech, he who struck at Elincia upon the stairs of Pinell and left so long a scar against the outside of her thigh.

She almost reached to feel the ridged flesh through her legging, a pale line unknown to all but her lady.

Elincia didn’t, because Bastian would see.

He would see, and he would wonder.

“Come,” Elincia said instead, pushing swiftly to her feet. Too swiftly, she realized when her sight dimmed. Perhaps she should have eaten. “I meant to speak with him anyway.”

\---

Uncle Renning was in the stables, though he tended no steed. They found him in a little workshop that opened to the yard. He was castings nails from old horseshoes, not that Elincia could imagine why. No one attended him, though that had never been so rare.

It was more expected now, with the way he seemed to bristle even in Lucia's presence.

At least when she was conscious.

“Uncle,” Elincia called, far brighter than she felt.

Uncle Renning looked up but did not quit his work. “Well?” he asked, in that brisk manner of his. “Any luck?“

“Not at present, sire mine.” Bastian’s smile was not so obvious here in the stables. It was no task to understand why, when oftentimes now Uncle Renning would barely humor even a genial hello. “Though with a measure of patience and study, I anticipate a swift remedy.” He had not sounded half so sure in the castle.

“I suppose you intend to consult the empire?”

Elinica worried her lip between her teeth.

“It may not be quite so simple,” Bastian murmured. “If any attempt is made…it would be a delicate matter.”

Uncle Renning grunted and began hammering a bit of twisted metal into submission. “Delicate because it is Begnion, or delicate because we’ve nothing but debt to entice their assistance?”

It was so difficult not to take those last words to heart, especially alongside the heavy punctuation of the hammer’s fall. Uncle Renning meant no rebuke, Elincia was sure, but still…Still the aid agreement she'd signed after Melior’s release weighed on her as would lead. _The interest will end us_ , her advisors had insisted. _Repayment begins in only eight years_ , the accountant had moaned. _This be but the first barter_ , Bastian had pleaded, even with Elincia’s quill poised over the scroll.

Oh, but she hadn't wanted to wait, to deny her people even a single moment’s relief.

How could Bastian call what would be food in bellies and clerics in the streets a barter? How could her advisors or anyone at all care about trivialities like repayment and interest and debt, when still the people suffered?

But that was a different Elincia. A naive girl still more princess than queen.

Some days Elincia felt as though she still was.

“Neither are a present concern,” Bastian admitted. “More it is the…current circumstances that we find ourselves in.”

Uncle Renning finally put his hammer down, and Elinica began to despair. He wiped his blackened hands on the front of his course trousers and fixed her with so very expectant a look. “I’m afraid I am not entirely certain as to why you were in Begnion at all.”

Bastian cleared his through carefully, “If thou do recall, sire mine, I did inform thee prior to-.”

“I do recall,” Uncle Renning interrupted, his sharp eyes then focused on Bastian. “You spoke a great deal _,_ as is your regrettable habit, but explained _nothing_.”

Elincia couldn’t help the nervous clench of her fingers. Uncle Renning was rarely anything but direct and strict, but she was certain she’d never heard him speak to Bastian so harshly. So without the quiet fondness that had always made less the frown of his lips. Bastian did not even attempt a rebuttal, not by words or deed. He only retreated a quiet step with averted eyes. Maybe in cold deference, but also maybe in true shame.

Elincia hadn’t the slightest idea, and that somehow only made this entire conversation so very worse.

“Niece,” Uncle Renning said, nearly so strident as he had been years before when teaching her the ways of a sword. “Feel free to begin.”

Part of Elincia knew that she didn’t have to.

That she could, with a single word, refuse him any explanation. That she could straighten her shoulders and look him in the eye and remind him of whose brow bore the crown. A larger part of her couldn’t even bear the thought, her gut seizing up in so immediate a denial. Her fingers clenched tighter and she bit the inside of her upper lip. Another habit her advisers scolded her for. “I-,” her throat was dry. She swallowed, but to speak was no easier. “I went to see Leanne.”

“A princess of Serenes,” Bastian quietly supplied.

“And a dear friend,” Elincia hastened to add, as if that would cast her decisions in a different light. “She sent me a letter saying she’d be in Telgram, and I thought it’d be lovely to see her before winter made travel difficult.”

Whether Uncle Renning remembered her or not, his heavy brow did not lessen. If anything, the shadows surrounding his eyes only deepened, “Then why this disastrous attempt at secrecy? Begnion has no reason to refuse you entrance.”

And perhaps here was Elincia’s greatest folly.

“I… didn’t want to go as I am,” she tried to explain, as low and faltering as if she were again a child reciting her letters. “We never would have made the journey there in a week if I had ridden as myself, as Crimea’s queen. You must know what I mean.” There would have been such fuss, such tedious obligation. She’d not have been permitted the leave to travel beyond the border with any sort of ease, would no doubt have been ferried to and fro surrounded by a Bennish escort the entire time. There would have been no avoiding the necessities of her station, an audience required by any lord that so wished.

Leanne would no doubt have been gone by the time they actually even made it to Telgram.

Oh, but Uncle Renning _had_ to understand. It was not so long ago that he had been constrained the same, his every word and act measured against a standard held to no one else. He had lived like that for years, even before Elincia had been born.

But maybe he had never felt that strain. That choking suffocation of existing under a thousand eyes.

Perhaps to feel withered under that constant scrutiny was a failing all Elincia’s own.

If Uncle Renning understood…if he was at all sympathetic to Elincia’s plight, his heavy brow gave no tell. “...So you journeyed to Begnion with no word of your presence.”

“...Yes,” Elincia admitted. “We all dressed simply, our horses as well.” To ride as civilians had seemed the perfect solution. Crimean papers had been enough to allow them within the castletown surrounding Telgram. No one had given Elincia and her escort a second glance, not with Amaranth stripped of all but the most basic tack. Nothing that would have attracted attention in a land as rich of Pegasus as the empire.

“Lunacy,” Uncle Renning muttered, passing a still dirty hand over his unkempt beard. “You must realize this was a plan already flawed? Even if you and Lucia covered yourselves, Geoffrey’s armor still screams of Melior.”

Of course Uncle Renning would have noticed. “Yes, I know, he-, well, I don’t think he actually understood what we were doing,” Elincia confessed. “He met us on the way to the border, in his usual armor, and I didn’t want to…to embarrass him, or put him to any trouble finding something else.” More she hadn’t wished to make him feel as though she were attempting to call needless attention to his mistake. It was so… difficult, determining how was the right way to speak to him anymore. “He covered himself on the way, but lost his cloak when we turned back from Telgram.”

All this tragedy, and she hadn’t even been able to see Leanne.

Elincia didn't say that, or make a single mention of her disappointment when Uncle Renning’s lip lifted in a way never seen. _“Idiocy,”_   he hissed, almost so like that man of another name that Elincia felt her toes curl. “A blatant disregard of custom, of _courtesy!_   The Bennish very well may refuse us any further aid, they may even demand immediate repayment, and you’ve no one to blame but yourself!”

His judgement rang in Elincia’s ears as would the brass bells of a temple.

“Sire mine…”

Uncle Renning turned away after a furious moment. He stared at Bastian so unkindly. As if but a moment from striking out.

Elincia found she had no voice, that her breath and heart both were caught fast in her throat.

“…Forgive me,” Uncle Renning finally managed, as he turned back towards the glowing forge. “Evidently too much time in the country has dulled my manners.”

Elincia shook her head at once, no matter the heavy patter of her heart, “Please don’t be sorry. You’re absolutely right.” He was, he was in _every way,_ and Elincia’s eyes could not but burn to know it. “It was selfish. We knew…we knew, and we did it anyway. There is no excuse.”

He made no response. No further apology, no acceptance or acknowledgement of Elincia’s regret.

He said nothing at all.

“We must concern ourselves with determining the purpose of this magic,” Bastian began, turning more towards Elincia as if she might be distracted from the hulking form of her uncle staring at the glowing embers of the forge. “And also with those that cast this magic.”

A worry she hadn’t yet felt the strength to consider. “…You think someone targeted Lucia and Geoffrey.” Or perhaps Elincia herself had been the target, and the two dearest people in her life had merely gotten in the way.

“Those that knew of your destination were but few. At present, all but one be either in this room or stricken silent three floors above.”

Elincia felt her eyes widen, “You don’t mean-.”

“No one else knew, milady.” Even when he tried to be gentle, the was something like a serpent in Bastian’s narrow face. A creature of calculation and snap-danger more than a man of compassion. “None but the squire.”

No, no, absolutely not! Elincia could not bear the thought, she could not stand to even _think_ that Maybelle had been involved in any of this. She was a sweet child, an _innocent_ child with not a thought between her ears beyond serving the kingdom. “No,” Elincia said aloud, though she could not make her voice firm. “She hasn’t a thing to do with this, Bastian, she _couldn’t.”_

But who else would have known about their delayed return?

Who else would have guessed their route, or have had the time to inform the crafter of those terrible blue spheres? And Maybelle had been so intent on leaving their shelter, so sure of herself and her ability to slip back across the border and send word to the capital. It had been endearing at the time, even vitalizing, to have been enveloped in the effusive confidence of youth.

Bastian didn’t understand. He didn’t care to. He tipped his chin in a pantomime of regret and spread his hands in supplication. “Tis impossible to be certain, unless she is questioned.”

“Where is she?” Elincia demanded, her tone sharp. Nearly an unmeant screech. “Do not tell me she is in the dungeon!”

“…She is not.”

Relief took her swiftly enough that Elincia felt faint.

“…If only because I am unsure of her current locale.”

Really? Did Bastian truly think she would accept so obvious a lie?

“You spoke with her.” Elincia felt raw again, even so far away from where her lady laid limp and senseless. “Didn’t you?” How else had Uncle Renning and the Royal Knights known where to wait? How could the Fireman have found them all so swiftly? “You can’t think I would believe that you’d let her go unwatched, if you suspected her of anything like this.”

But he’d had no reason to suspect her then.

It wasn’t until after they’d spoke, until after the valley, that Bastian would have wondered.

No, _no._ There was nothing to wonder, nothing to be suspicious of. Maybelle had done no wrong, she had not schemed to put all their lives in such danger. That she wasn’t here, that Bastian hadn’t found her…it meant nothing. She’d gone home to her sisters, maybe, or to the bakery over behind Tulip Park. There was an apprentice there, a boy with blue eyes and violet hair that gave her reason to blush just by mention.

But if Bastian didn’t already know all that, Elincia wasn’t about to tell him.

“What of Begnion?” she rushed out, before he could speak. “What if some claim of our presence is made, by either the soldiers or separatists?”

It worked, if only because Bastian allowed her the distraction. “The options are but few,” he slowly began, again like a serpent as his eyes grew lidded. “Honesty or avoidance.”

Elincia frowned, “How do you mean?”

“Either make no mention of these happenings, admitting to not a single speculation that thee and thine stepped even a single foot beyond the border, or present the situation in its entirety before yon empress. Afore any other may attempt the same.”

Uncle Renning finally made a sound, a displeased growl in his throat that made the hairs on Elincia’s arms stand up. She had forgotten he was there. “Crimea trades a great deal with the northern territories.” He held silent for a moment, and there was a strangeness in his profile. “…We used to, at least. Any or all of whom who might take offense if this attempt to sidestep obligation is brought to light.”

But how could Elincia claim ignorance?

They had done everything they could to avoid suspicion before and after Telgram came alive in revolt and fire, but Elincia knew well enough how a chance sighting and careless words could spawn the fiercest rumor. And how rumor could grow and twist into something worse than the truth, into a coiled monster that made men and women fear for the worse, enough so even to abandon their only child to a lonely life of little joy and few friends.

That-, no…that was cruel.

As cruel as Elincia had been even insisting on this foolish scheme.

And now she had to choose, a truthful path or a lie.

Why was the former always so difficult? It should have been the only choice. Everything in the world would be so different, so _better,_ if honesty was always the given course. But even then, the truth was not a thing without thorns. Elincia knew that. How couldn’t she, when she saw the wounds of her own truth with every moment spent in Geoffrey’s presence. But if they lied…if Elincia committed to that course, it would be difficult to beg the empire’s assistance. It would be either way, actually, but at least with the truth there would be no chance of upsetting them again. Of giving away that they had willfully deceived the empire not once but twice, if ever the first deceit came to light.

They could seek no aid, if Begnion found out on their own.

But they might lose commerce, and the painfully garnered respect of so many of Crimea’s trade partners, if Elincia’s gallivanting became known.

So she could save face, or she could ensure that every avenue remained open to see Lucia and Geoffrey returned to her.

It wasn’t really a choice at all.

“Honesty.”

Elincia ignored the way Bastian’s eyes weighed upon her, so bland and unfeeling in unknown judgment.

“Unfortunate, but necessary,” Uncle Renning muttered dully behind them. “This entire affair was conducted in so ramshackle a manner that there is no possibility that the Bennish will believe anything but the truth.”

So terrible, was the way Bastian’s eyes fell closed. As if bearing up under some sudden pain.

Elincia knew that same pain, as a new shame colored her throat and cheeks. It was terrible, and so cowardly of her, to let Uncle Renning judge them both, when Elincia was really the only one to blame.

“If such is our course-.” Elincia wondered, as she had so often before, how Bastian could so completely cloak himself in spoken word. If she weren’t familiar with him, if she didn’t know how abundant honesty chaffed at him so entirely, she would have thought him completely amicable to the idea. “-then we must send a representative forthwith.”

Elincia bit her lip, and turned with a fool’s hope towards the forge. “I-, I’d rather you stay, uncle, but perhaps we would better prove our sincerity if-.”

Uncle Renning broke a rusted shoe in half with his hands like it were a thing of mud and twigs. “I will not.”

She did not ask him again.

“…Duchess Lorraine was of Sienne before marrying into House Trebuth,” Bastian murmured. His eyes were on the forge, and the coals reflected like fiery stars in his eyes. “To navigate the Bennish court will be no difficult task for one as astute as she. T’would be the simplest thing for her to present the facts of the situation without casting Crimea in too…ungracious a light.”

Neither would it be so difficult for Bastian, but he did not offer.

Elincia would have asked him why, if it weren’t so apparent that the reason was standing behind them feeding broken bits of metal to the forge.

\---

This fall was no different than the last, though Geoffrey better kept his feet as the impact bent his knees.

As usual Lucia was the only one to greet him after he stepped off the dias. There was no one on his either side, but Geoffrey could not shake the sensation of being the subject of unknown eyes.

A feeling he was growing far too used to.

“How was it?” Lucia asked, scanning him head to toe.

Geoffrey looked down as well, and frowned to see one of his ankle-guards gone. His boot was gouged as well, deep enough that he could see the grey wool of his stocking. “…Nothing to worry about.” Little beside his left shoulder ached when he stepped down the short steps. If able to actually remove his armor, no doubt he'd find a mammoth bruise beneath. One earned when forced to fling himself between a red-haired man and a gnashing horror.

“Don’t suppose you caught sight of a calendar?”

“No.” Neither a calendar nor Elincia, though he was not of the mind to speak that frustration aloud.

Perhaps Lucia could tell his mood. She held silent, and even the tall heel of her boots made no sound as they pressed through the gloom.

It was all the same. The same in every way. Wisped darkness clung to the air and crept about as would morning fog on the rocky coast. But this darkness did not burn away with the sun, or do a thing but swirl lazily around Geoffrey’s feet as he and his sister walked towards the bit of gloom they’d claimed as their own.

No structure, not even a true floor beneath them. No walls, no rafters, no chains, nothing at all that gave any sort of clue to the prison that held them.

How could they escape from a dungeon with no walls? From a room with no doors?

“Did anyone question you?”

Geoffrey debated sitting, but it was difficult finding a comfortable position with all his armor attached. “No.” And because he felt like complaining, “But they keep mispronouncing my name.”

Lucia frowned and tipped her head, “What?”

He reddened. She wasn’t supposed to actually question him on it. “It’s-, nevermind, they just keep calling me Jeff. Or saying my whole name, but the common way.” It was petulant to care, Geoffrey understood that. They had far graver concerns than-.

“But how do they know your name at all? You said they didn’t question you.”

They hadn’t. No one had spoken to Geoffrey once, lest in the impersonal manner that one might use to praise a lamp post. “…I don’t know.” How had they found out? “They know yours, and Volke’s as well.”

Lucia’s brows came together, “…Is that the Fireman?”

But who would have told them? Maybe Elincia, exchanging information in an attempt to garner their safety, or maybe someone else entirely. But if that were the case, for what reason? Elincia’s detractors were not few, but Geoffrey couldn’t think of a single likely candidate for treason on this scale. “…Yes. Have you seen him?”

She said she hadn’t.

Geoffrey frowned anew, struck by a sudden suspicion. “You don’t think-.”

Lucia’s head jerked to the side and she held up a hand.

Geoffrey was silent, and then heard the measured pace of someone in approach. He did not bother to hide his displeasure, lips thin as he turned to face the dias. Already he was sure it was not the Fireman, each foot-fall too spaced, and also far too loud. Aggravating as it forever was, Volke was recognized in his lack of obvious approached more than anything else.

Volke also did not loom as would an approaching mountain.

A man bled from the darkness that was at least as broad as Lord Renning, and certainly as tall. His hair was a darker hue than Geoffrey’s and combed away from his forehead, maybe waxed. He sported no beard, or was perhaps too young to. Despite that he was dressed as a man of means, nothing even remotely shabby in his vestment or armor. He carried no weapon, or at least not one seen.

A threat regardless.

“May we help you?” Lucia asked. Her voice was unusually cold.

The man lifted his hands and slowed his approached, “Don’t mean to intrude.”

He continued to do just that though, until he was only a stride away.

“Welcome,” he said, a touch wryly. “Call me Hector.” He offered his arm with a soldier's expectation, and Geoffrey was proven too much the same not to respond in like. His clasp was firm and brief, little obvious in his intentions but to greet. Strange as that was. "I'd say it was a pleasure to meet you both, but." His accent was strange, and he shrugged with a weary sympathy before clasping Lucia's arm in the same brisk manner.

"Geoffrey." Not so friendly as he'd been taught, but Geoffrey had little patience at hand for niceties. "My sister," he continued, glaring over Hector's broad shoulder. There was movement in the far shadows. "Duchess Delbray."

Lucia snorted beside him, though he didn't understand how she could so easily find humor in this place. "Lucia will do," she offered, suddenly as light and personable as she ever was when making another's acquaintance. "I don’t suppose you’re our warden?"

Hector barked a laugh. “No, but I’d like to have a word with whoever is.”

“His name is Robin,” Geoffrey supplied. Hector’s brows drew together. “I’ve overheard the soldiers speaking.”

“I guess they’ve got you on watch.” Hector shrugged away Geoffrey’s frown, “They tend to use the larger of us like that between battles.”

Us.

Even though expected, but it was still far from a comfort to know there were more prisoners lurking in the shadows.

“Have they used you against those creatures as well?” Lucia asked, leaning forward. “Do you have any idea what they are?”

Hector shook his head and crossed his arms. “I don’t have much more information than either of you. None of us do.”

Of course he didn’t.

If Lucia felt the same irritation it didn’t show. She was still so warm, so polite and sickeningly politic. “Thank you for coming to see us. I suppose you wanted to be sure we weren’t dangerous first?”

“I don’t think any of us would be here if we weren’t a bit dangerous,” Hector offered with a wholly unnecessary wink. Amused, when there was nothing in this dark prison worth even a single smile. “I tried to come say hello when you first showed, but it didn't seem like the time.”

He had been that approaching tread then. The one that had forced so swift a terror beneath Geoffrey’s flesh when they’d first fallen from on high.

“Oh,” Hector said, snapping a finger, “Before I forget again; didn’t you have another fellow with you?"

"…We did," Geoffrey muttered, though he doubted Volke would care even if he were close enough to hear the irritation. "Not sure where he's wandered to."

Hector passed a hand over his jaw, commiseration in the crease of his eyes, "That sort, then." He didn't explain what that sort was, instead turning back to the farther darkness when a voice hailed. He didn't respond, but rolled his eyes as he turned back. “Well, glad to see you both are decent folk. Don't be strangers."

Lucia offered her own farewell before Hector was again little more than a broad mass in the shadows. 

\---

If days passed, Geoffrey did not know.

There was nothing so obvious about the passage of time in this place. No sun made the shadows fade or grow. There were no timepieces of any sort, neither of gears or sand. Even had he one of those chained pocket-contraptions that Bastian was so fond of, he wasn’t even sure it would have functioned in this place. He and his sister kept to themselves, exploring only so far as that they could still see one another. The gloom would surge in a sudden wave sometimes, and Geoffrey would sprint the distance no matter the white-hot ache of his shoulder.

Lucia was never gone, and probably never even noticed Geoffrey’s panicked chase.

Much as they searched, as far as they wandered, the dias was forever still in sight. Always right over their shoulder.

Geoffrey saw someone collapse atop the steps once, but they were up and away before he could be foolish enough to offer assistance.

He and Lucia finally gave up on their quest to find anything of substance in this unreal place. They sat on the ground, if ground it could be called, and debated a dozen theories. If not making her way towards Sienne, where could Elincia be? Would she have gone ahead and escaped, when both Geoffrey and Lucia fell to that nameless magic? Had she maybe even made it to the Schterik, or managed to fly across the Marhauts all together?

“She wouldn’t leave Amaranth,” Lucia sighed, as she shifted her hand through a bit of wispy gloom. “That damn horse could have struck the ground cold, and Elincia still would have drug her back to Crimea by the horn.”

Again, unbidden, the sound of Farther’s terrored whinnies fluttered to life behind Geoffrey’s eyes.

“…I still don’t understand what she caught,” Geoffrey murmured, leaning back to lessen the pinch of his shoulders. It didn’t really help. “You’re sure Amarath was well, before I met you all on the way?”

Lucia shrugged, far more honest in her ignorance of steeds outside of their lady’s presence.

Geoffrey sighed and leaned back further. 

Too far though, for his armor started to tip him back.

He scrambled, over the quiet sound of Lucia’s laughter, but then didn’t have to at all. The darkness moved, less creeping and more purposeful approach. Geoffrey felt it curl up behind him, against the small of his back and the width of his shoulders. Something soft, enough so to be called a pillow, billowed to life around his neck and against the back of his head.

It was like lounging in a cushioned chair.

So much so that Geoffrey didn’t even realize when he closed his eyes.

\---

He came back aware with Lucia’s head against his shoulder.

Her hair was still clean, even soft when Geoffrey let his cheek go slack against her. The stagnant smell of sweat did not cling to the air, even though neither of them had changed or bathed since reaching Telgram however long ago.

Perhaps that was the strangest truth in all this.

Geoffrey had not eaten or drank, had not even pissed, in longer than he could remember. And still he did not hunger. He did not thirst or chill or grow overheated even layered as he was, dressed in all his padding and leathers, and the whole of his day armor. Despite that he knew no discomfort at all. Nothing, except for the still sharp ache of his shoulder.

What sort of arcana could do that to a body?

To remove a man’s hunger, his thirst…to stop his breath but not his life?

Maybe Bastian would have understood, were he in this unchanging place of grey. Maybe even Calill. When was the last time Geoffrey had spoken to her? Or anyone that was not either a servant or soldier, before this wretched journey? When was the last time he and Lucia had even been by themselves? Always it seemed now as though Elincia was between them.

It hadn't forever been that way.

Once, when Geoffrey had been a noisy child with fewer manners than he did teeth, it had been nothing to leap about in the gardens with his sister and Elincia both. They’d wrestled in the grass and beat at one another with sticks and stones, playing at soldiers and war. Mother had scolded him once and again for being too familiar, but Geoffrey hadn’t understood. Not then. And not later, either.

Geoffrey hadn’t truly understood what royalty was at all until Lord Renning had taken him on as a squire.

Maybe that had been his first folly. Taking himself from Elincia’s side. Giving any other the opportunity to flourish unchallenged in her attentions.

Though he’d never expected to be out maneuvered by his own sister.

It was well that Lucia woke then, before Geoffrey’s thoughts could tinge much darker. “Morning,” she yawned, as she stretched her arms before her. She left her head where it was, though Geoffrey’s pauldron couldn't be a comfortable pillow. “Sleep well?”

“...Well enough.” That he’d slept at all was still surprising. Geoffrey hadn’t even felt that tired.

“Anyone come say hello?”

“Not that I saw.”

Lucia folded her fingers together and bent them until each knuckle cracked. “Not even the Fireman?”

As if. “Haven’t seen him since we came to this place.” Nor had Geoffrey really expected to. Volke was a man of few constants, but there was little one could count on so definitively as his desire to remain unseen and unknown.

Though perhaps there were reasons beyond that for his absence.

Lucia made a noise in her throat, as if curious. “Thought you were friendly with him.”

Geoffrey couldn't help his frown. He couldn’t imagine what he’d done to give that impression. “Why?”

She just shrugged. “You knew his name.”

It had always made Geoffrey wonder, that a man would guard his face more than he would a name. Geoffrey was familiar with both, but only by way of circumstance. “... Friendly isn't the word I would use.” To be friendly with any fireman was surely not a thing done, and certainly not with the one who'd claimed the definitive title. “Besides…I’m not so sure he is an ally in all of this.” Maybe that first day had been a mistake, Volke forced into servitude alongside them. He’d certainly disappeared quickly enough afterwards.

There was a frown in Lucia’s voice. “...You think he betrayed us.”

Geoffrey hesitated.

But he shouldn’t. He knew what Volke was, knew well his reputation. He also knew him to be a kingless man, self-proclaimed to be without scruples. Geoffrey had himself seen that last to be untrue, but that didn’t mean Volke still wasn’t a dishonest man that made a dishonest living. He was every inch a rogue. That Bastian was amused by him in some way didn’t change that fact, since Bastian was almost the same.

It had been…difficult, actually, seeing Bastian again after the world had turned to stillness and stone. Sometimes it still was.

Not as difficult as seeing Lord Renning, but that…that was something else entirely.

Lucia pressed back enough to gain his attention, “Suppose we could go ask him.”

Geoffrey blinked himself back to awareness and was still startled, though maybe more from habit than otherwise, when he noticed the Fireman not so far away.

Perhaps it was unlikely that Volke had done anything to prompt this, when still he was just as caged. He looked as he had when they’d first fallen into this dusky dungeon. Done up in his jacket and gloves, though his mask was again high. It was difficult to determine why Volke bothered to hide at all. There was nothing strikingly significant in his looks. No noteworthy scar, no boils or disfigurement. Perhaps it was only habit, but at that still a strange one.

Though calling the Fireman strange was like announcing that water was wet.

Lucia shifted again. Her head remained against his shoulder. “Think he’d tell us if he found out anything?”

Geoffrey shrugged, “Have any gold?”

But a second later it didn’t matter if she did. The shadows pulsed and Volke was gone from sight even as they watched.

Maybe he’d hear word of Elincia out there. Maybe he’d even be kind enough to share.

A humorous thought, if naive.

“Well…think I’ll take a walk,” Lucia decided minutes later, pushing to her feet and stretching her arms overhead.

Geoffrey was quick to stand. His shoulder ached as he twisted. “What for?”

Lucia shrugged and began to finger-comb her hair into something passably neat. “Hector did say not to be a stranger.”

“So?” She couldn’t be serious. “You don’t even know him, or anyone else out there!”

“Still,” Lucia said, so nonchalant. So uncaring of the anxious heat curling like a serpent in Geoffrey’s gut. “We need to start somewhere. Feel free to come with.” And here it was proven again, that Lucia just didn’t care. Not about him, not about his thoughts and concerns, about how completely it would wreck Geoffrey, to find her once more come to harm.

But when had she ever?

Her stride was long and determined as she left him, as it always was when flinging herself headfirst into unknown danger.

Geoffrey watched her go, ignored again.

Swept aside as decidedly as dust in the wind.

\---

Volke reappeared some indeterminable time later beside a sharp-nosed man with scarlet hair. They did not speak, but stepped down from the dias with the same purposeful stride.

They tried, at least.

The redhead held his side as he walked, his teeth bared like a dog as he sucked in soundless breaths. Volke was just as silent, but his mask was low. It was easy to see the tightness of his jaw, the pale press of his lips something familiar. Once down the steps his limp became obvious, though still he clung to his silence.

Even in Fayre he’d always been the sort to swallow his pain.

Geoffrey watched him approach, still mostly blanketed in creeping gloom. He stood, and wasn’t even in the mood to be amused when Volke flinched back.

Something gleamed on his flank. Something red and wet between the tears of his clothing.

Geoffrey asked, though it came out more impatient than sympathetic, “How did that happen?”

Volke resumed his stride, though he forced the torn length of his jacket tight to his side. The gash was hidden, but he couldn't manage the same with his limp. “How do you think.”


End file.
